The Magus
Visions of Darkness
Punctuation key: "Gothic Speech", +Binary Speech+, "Out-of-narrative speech"
The Magus
****
Ferrous Dominus - Solon's forge
"UWAAAH!!"
Solon glanced up from an array of hololiths as a scream echoed through the depths of his forge.
A sharp crackling noise came from within a large iron cage, followed by a few stuttering purple flashes. After a few more seconds of panicked shouting, Twilight Sparkle was dumped onto the floor, her mane sticking out straight like bundles of purple wires.
"Ow! What?" Twilight shook her head as she stood up, and then gasped as she found herself standing inside a metal enclosure. "What's going on? How did I get in here?!"
"You teleported in here," Solon said bluntly as he continued tapping away on a hololith.
"Well, yes, but I didn't teleport in HERE!" the alicorn countered, looking about at the cage that surrounded her. "This is more than 14 meters off-target, and I had the psionic manifold active! Do you think there's something wrong with it? Could you take a look?"
Solon slid his hand to the side, and the hololith was swept away into the extended gloom of his forge as he turned around. "There ish nothing wrong with your shyshtemsh. I have conshtructed a machine to intercept incoming teleportationsh and eshtablish a final materialization in a location of my chooshing rather than yoursh." He gestured to the cage.
Twilight looked surprised. "Really? And it works on magical teleports as well as your own teleportation technologies?"
"It doesh not work on our teleportation technologiesh," Solon informed her.
Twilight spent a moment digesting that fact, glancing around at the reinforced prison all around her.
"Uh... am I... bothering you, by any chance?" the purple pony asked awkwardly as her ears turned down.
"And here I thought I might have been being too SHUBTLE," Solon spat the word slowly from his vox grille while he towered over the prison, glowering through his optics clusters at the pony. "Did you want shomething, Shparkle?"
Twilight chuckled nervously. She really hated moments like these, when Solon took a moment to remind her that he was, in fact, an evil cyborg mastermind who considered her a mere weapon. She idly wondered if he ever treated Luna like that.
"Well, actually, I wanted to talk to you about Serith," the alicorn said, "uh... is there any chance I can get out of this cage?"
A device on top of the cage beeped, and one of the walls slid open along a rail. Twilight stepped out gingerly, keeping her head bowed.
"So... Serith." Twilight said as she sat down in front of the Warsmith. Her armored rear made a light clanging noise as it struck the metal floor. "I'm kind of worried that he's going to kill me and my friends."
"Ash I recall, you've conshidered that a poshibility for shome time," Solon pointed out.
"Yes, true. But, well... back then I couldn't make any sense of his motivations, and assumed he wanted to hurt us out of general belligerence. Now... he kind of has a good reason." Twilight sucked in a breath through her teeth as she made this admission. It was bad enough that someone ostensibly on their side would seriously want to hurt her or her squad, but the idea that it might be even the slightest bit justified made her feel particularly miserable.
Solon turned back to his work, the hololiths sliding up in front of him and spiraling long streams of data against the walls. "How'sh that?"
"Rainbow Dash told Tellis about Serith," Twilight sighed, "Tellis told everybody else. I mean EVERYBODY. He put that vid-capture of him punting Serith's helmet off onto the big screens in sector 12 and put it onto the noosphere and everything."
"Ah, yesh. I have it, too," Solon chuckled, "me and Shliver rarely appreciate Tellish and hish anticsh, but we make an exception for tormenting Sherith."
Twilight furrowed her brow. "Really? Why?"
"For much the shame reashonsh everyone elshe doesh," Solon explained as the hololith broke apart into a stream of glittering lights, and then formed a new display, "he'sh moody, deshtructive, dishloyal, and hash no care for our fleet or itsh mission. He'sh rather similar to Tellish, in fact, except that I can force Sherith to actually do hish job when neceshary thanksh to hish armor having a remote killshwitch."
Twilight blinked, honestly surprised. "I was told that Serith wasn't very popular among the Company, but... I didn't know it extended to you too."
"Not that I don't shympathize, to shome extent. There are often timesh I too want to vaporize Rainbow Dash. And I've alwaysh wanted to kill Tellish. But Sherith ish shtill quite obnoxioush himshelf, and doeshn't make himshelf usheful enough to earn my intervention." Then Solon paused. "Although... he hash been unushually bushy on thish planet."
"Yeah. He, uh... He's actually been really helpful, when you get right down to it." Twilight sighed.
"I think it'sh Mish Trixie," Solon decided as he scuttled over to another section of the workshop, "Sherith hash never had any short of meaningful camaraderie shince hish ashignment to my army. I'm shure you undershtand why. In Mish Trixie, shomehow, he hash found a peer; shomeone who sharesh hish whimshical belligerence and general contempt for non-pshykersh."
"Yeah, I can see why they get along," Twilight grumbled, "they're both egotists, too."
Solon halted in his tracks. "Sherith? An egotisht?"
"Well, sure." Twilight frowned as the Warsmith swiveled around to face her. "I mean, isn't he? His haughty behavior and the way he dismisses conventional weapons sure makes it seem that way."
"Sherith hash many flawsh, ash I've explained, but exceshive shelf-eshteem ishn't one of them," the Warsmith insisted, "on the contrary, he hash quite the inferiority complex."
"REALLY," Twilight trotted up next to Solon's chassis, deeply interested.
"Oh, indeed. He reshentsh hish shervicesh to the Iron Warriorsh, and conshtantly concoctsh hish own shchemesh and projectsh ash he neglectsh hish dutiesh. Many of them come to nothing, incidentally, and each failure leavesh him more embittered. He lashesh out at my technologiesh and the mundane warriorsh out of jealoushy and frushtration. He knowsh he should be above shuch thingsh, but he ish not." Soon chuckled again. "I hear he wash actually quite enraged to learn that the Orksh had overcome the Warp shtorm; he had thought that yet another of hish shorceriesh had failed ush. He may not care much for our shuccesh, but with every misshtep hish reputation wanesh further and the resht of the fleet judgesh him more harshly. Shliver hash shuggeshted before that I deactivate him permanently."
Twilight's eyes were wide. "That... I... I had no idea..."
"Now that the resht of the army knowsh he ish not truly an Ashtartesh anymore, their attitude toward him will probably improve," Solon admitted, "it'sh eashier to shuffer the Shorcerer if you can think of him ash shome mere machine or warbeasht that I've cobbled together, rather than a true Iron Warrior. That shentiment doeshn't make him feel any better, I'm shure."
The Warsmith started working on another console, and spans of colored light spread a double-helix pattern in the air before him.
Twilight stared down at the floor, her brow furrowed. Then she looked up at Solon again. "Can you tell me... what happened?"
"Hm?" Solon didn't stop working.
"I don't really know anything about Serith. Just a few tidbits here and there that you've dropped," the alicorn explained, "he's from some Chaos Legion called the Thousand Sons. He's miserable and lonely. Or was, at least. He's an empty shell of armor motivated by pure psychic power coming from a 'phylactery' rather than a brain." Twilight shook her head. "Even by Chaos standards, he's unusual, isn't he?"
"He ish," Solon allowed, "but that'sh not my shtory to tell. Beshidesh, I'm bushy." His hand rose to another hololith display, and he changed it with a sweep of his hand.
"Well, I don't think he'd tell me if I asked," Twilight sighed.
"Oh, no need for that." Solon tapped at the hololith, and then it quivered in the air. A moment later a vid-capture display appeared over it. "Here."
Twilight recoiled as he flicked the hololith, causing it to slide over in front of her. "Wait, is this-"
"Mish Trixie ashked Sherith about the shame thing before we all left to attack the shpace hulk. I have the vid-capture here. You can jusht lishten to that." Solon returned to the helix display to unwind the gene-codex he was studying.
The lavender pony pursed her lips as she stared at the hololith. The screen had an image of Serith leaning against a wall with his entire left leg missing. Trixie was behind him, frozen in mid-stride, with the missing extremity hovering next to her.
"I don't know... this sounds like a rather sensitive topic, and watching a security vid-capture of him explaining it seems like an invasion of his privacy," Twilight said reluctantly.
"If you shay sho," Solon replied as he started tagging gene-chains in his hololith model, "he certainly hash no shuch compunctionsh about watching the vid-capturesh of your shleeping quartersh."
Twilight went still and silent for several seconds.
"... There are... vid-captures of my quarters?" the purple Princess asked.
"Yesh."
Twilight's eye twitched. "... Twenty-four hour vid-captures?" she specified.
"Yesh."
"That Serith views?" Twilight's voice was starting to become unusually high-pitched, and her face was turning bright red.
"Among othersh, yesh."
The alicorn gulped. "So... is there any chance that he saw me... two weeks ago... when, uh... when I-"
"Probably. Not that he'd care. Your pershonal erotic fantashiesh are not of any interesht to him or the resht of ush." Solon began linking the selected genes to different formulas listed at the bottom of his hololith. "Although it ish shomewhat amushing too shee what you get up to when the dragon ishn't around."
Twilight clenched her teeth as her face burned. "I wasn't aware that my VERY PERSONAL affairs were a matter of public record in the 38th Company. Much less a topic of AMUSEMENT."
"Oh, don't flatter yourshelf," Solon scoffed, "the video of Mish Apple head-butting the Fireblade over and over ish FAR more popular. We moshtly review the vid-capturesh of your room to determine how Lieutenant Dushk Blade ish circumventing our shecurity meashuresh. We shtill can't figure it out. It'sh uncanny."
Solon continued with his work, deeming the conversation complete. Twilight spent several more seconds sulking behind him, silently wondering which spots on her wall she should obscure to foil any further surveillance attempts.
Then she glanced around the forge, confirming that she was the only other individual in the area besides the Warsmith himself.
With a quick tap of her hoof against the air, the hololith flickered and began its playback.
****
Trixie's Quarters (vid-capture playback)
"Here," Trixie said as she floated the dismembered hunk of armor over to the wall. "Trixie finally managed to get your leg away from Tellis. It took some tricky hololith work, and Trixie doesn't think those Sentinels will be walking ever again, but Trixie got it."
The floating leg quivered in the air for a moment, and then the magic aura around it broke. It snapped toward the power armored form in the corner of the room and then slammed into place against Serith's pelvis plating.
Serith said nothing, still facing the wall as an arc of energy flashed around the joint.
"You're welcome," Trixie said simply before she walked past the Sorcerer. "Suuna! Bring out the sugared oats! Trixie has had a very stressful day!"
The unicorn's power armor split apart over her back, and her horn started glowing again. "Why don't they put some kind of restraining machine on that lunatic? This is the LAST thing Trixie needs after that debacle in Canterlot."
Trixie kept grumbling as she took apart her power armor with her magic, stripping away the pieces one by one in a cloud of sparkling pink.
Suuna entered cautiously as Trixie finished removing the torso frame, holding a bowl of oats sprinkled with brown sugar. Her eyes only crossed Serith's form for a moment before averting quickly, and then she scurried toward Trixie.
"Does this amuse you, servant?"
Serith's voice sent ice crawling down Suuna's spine, and she halted in place.
"To see one such as I, laid low so often and so easily?" Serith's voice was a venomous hiss, and Suuna began trembling in place. "Do you laugh when you see the images of my humiliation put on display for the entertainment of the fleet's vermin?"
Trixie frowned as Suuna squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering in pain.
"And then you approach me with your mirth bubbling over your thoughts," the Sorcerer finally moved, turning to face Suuna with the pulsing glow of his helmet visor, "you insolent-"
"Serith, quit it," Trixie snapped suddenly.
After a brief pause, Suuna gasped and staggered, falling to her knees. The bowl of oats Trixie had requested were caught in a haze of pink magic, keeping them from spilling.
"Trixie understands that you're having a bad day, but don't take it out on Suuna," the unicorn said sharply. The bowl levitated next to her, setting down on a metal table.
Serith made a noise from within his helmet that might have been a growl. Still, he relented. Whatever quiet amusement and satisfaction Suuna may have felt before, now her mind was soaked in naked terror. It improved his mood substantially.
Trixie waited until Suuna got up and sat down next to her, and she watched the quivering woman calmly.
"Back rub, please," Trixie requested. Suuna started stroking the pony's back, holding her gaze away from the Iron Warrior. Silence reigned for half a minute.
"... So, are you going to tell Trixie your story, or what?" Trixie finally asked, arching an eyebrow.
Serith made another irritated noise and turned away. "I must go. The Harvest of Steel will be taking to Warp space by this evening. The Nethalican must be prepared."
"You have plenty of time," Trixie scoffed, "if you'd rather talk about it later, after the Orks are dealt with, that's fine with Trixie, but Trixie wants to know."
"Know? You wish to know what I am?" Serith snarled. "The sight of this wraith-like body falling to a shambles is not enough for you? You wish to hear of my failures, my DEMISE, in detail?" A deep shudder quivered through the Iron Warrior's armor, and the outer plating rippled like a disturbed pool of water.
Trixie's eyes narrowed fearlessly. "Trixie KNOWS what you are."
This stopped Serith short.
"You are Serith. You're a Sorcerer. You're powerful, clever, and your so-called superiors can't even give you an order and be sure the idea didn't come from you in the first place. Your favorite hobbies are studying magic artifacts and annoying Twilight Sparkle, both of which Trixie delights in hearing about. Trixie already knows you." The unicorn shifted slightly under Suuna's hands to help guide her to a particular spot. "What Trixie wants to know is what happened to your body. Which Trixie thinks is perfectly fair, considering Trixie has been running around the base collecting pieces of it for you."
Serith remained silent for several long seconds. Suuna briefly glanced up at him nervously.
"You think you know me?" the Sorcerer asked. His tone gave the impression of a contemptuous sneer, although it hardly seemed like his heart was in it. "You, who have observed and conversed with me for mere months? My lifetime is measured in millennia, unicorn."
Trixie was still unimpressed, and kept an annoyed gaze fixed on the Iron Warrior's visor. "Of course Trixie knows you, Serith." Then she smirked. "So, are you going to prove Trixie wrong?"
Another long silence.
"... You make it seem so easy. So simple," Serith groused, speaking to the ceiling as he tilted his head back, "no doubt clouds your thoughts. Your power is middling, your strength pitiable. And yet you throw yourself at every challenge as if victory is assured." A tired, sad chuckle came from the Sorcerer's vox grille. "What an absurd creature you are."
"Yes, yes, Trixie knows that Trixie is the best," she said dismissively, "but this is about you, not Trixie. Are you going to tell Trixie what this 'phylactery' thing is about, or not?"
Serith seemed to reach a decision, and he snapped his gaze toward Suuna. "You. Servant. Leave us."
Suuna started to move immediately, but Trixie clicked her tongue. "Wait, why? Suuna isn't going to tell anyone!"
"I have little faith in her ability to keep secrets, but that is an irrelevance," Serith growled, "what I am about to tell you I have never told another soul in this fleet. Even the Warsmith himself does not know. I will not compromise this confidence so that you can get a back rub as you listen."
Trixie groaned, but then gave Suuna an apologetic look. "Sorry, Suuna. Why don't you go relax in the café or something? Trixie has some credits in her hat."
"Yes, Mistress. As you wish." Suuna was already digging through the hat for the money as she spoke. If Serith wanted her gone, then she was all too happy to comply.
****
Ferrous Dominus - Solon's forge
"Wait a minute!" Twilight said, leaning her head away from the hololith display. "Serith intended this story to be hidden from everybody but Trixie? Even you? Then how did you even get this recording? Why is there a vid-capture at all?!"
Solon looked up from his work. "Sherith wash making thish recording himshelf. He'sh alwaysh recording Trixie'sh room. He probably shushpectsh that I can tap into hish pershonal shyshtemsh to copy hish memory shtacksh, but in thish cashe he didn't turn off the vid-capture unitsh. Probably jusht forgot."
The Warsmith chuckled as he looked down at his workbench again. "He'sh really not ash shmart ash he pretendsh to be."
Twilight frowned up at him. "But he can easily read the minds of non-psykers, right? Won't he be able to figure out that you know about it?"
"He can't read my mind." Solon paused, and then revised the statement. "Or, rather, he can't read all of them, at leasht. After shcanning a few and having hish thoughtsh filled with technical gibberish, he ushually givesh up rather quickly."
Twilight blinked several times.
"...... What?"
Solon pointed to the hololith. "He'sh shtarting. Lishten."
****
Trixie's quarters (vid-capture playback)
"I am not an Iron Warrior," Serith stated firmly, "I possess none of their Primarch's traits, have the greatest disdain for their tactics, and find even their admirable qualities - their relentless application of logic, their efficiency, and their patience - utterly tiresome. There is only one Legion I despise more, in fact."
An electric arc whipped and crackled around his hand as he gripped it into a fist. "That Legion is my birth Legion: the Thousand Sons."
"Ah. So it's going to be one of THOSE stories," Trixie interjected, "go on."
"I will not bore you with the details of my Legion's fall from grace, but you need know that it was sudden, and not a willful choice on our part. We served the Imperium faithfully, using our sorceries to its benefit, and in reward the Emperor sent the savages of Fenris against us. As our home world and brothers were torn apart by Leman Russ and his pets, we were also plagued by a rash of debilitating mutations, twisting our flesh into horrifying and useless forms. We escaped the Space Wolves and the Imperium, but in doing so we fell right into the clutches of the entities most responsible for our suffering." Serith's voice was trembling, and he held his fist against a wall. "Our Primarch had failed us. The Imperium had failed us. And Chaos was devouring us even as it demanded our service. But the fates had further pain and indignities to heap upon us."
The next word left Serith's vox grille like a curse. Trixie was sure he would have spat on the ground if he were physically capable.
"Ahriman..."
****
Planet of the Sorcerers - time period unknown
"This is absurd! A violation!"
I was young when the Warmaster's Heresy tore the Imperium apart. One of many psykers just finishing his training such that I was sanctioned to wield my power in combat.
"After all that... THING has done to us, after twisting Magnus himself, you wish to SERVE it?"
I had started out rather idealistic. That was not a good trait to have at this particular time in our Legion's history.
"Never! I will NEVER submit my soul to the Dark God of Sorcery!"
I stared into the visor of my Coven Captain, Bisaam, as it sat atop a suit of terminator armor. The armor plate was swimming in ever-shifting runes, and an emblem of a hooked flame quivered in place on his shoulder pad.
The Mark of Tzeentch, Chaos God of change and sorcery.
"Serith. Be calm," the Captain said, holding out a hand toward me. I felt his thoughts began to caress mine, trying to put them at ease.
I pushed back, shoving his influence away. "Captain, surely you know where this path leads," I growled.
Bisaam was unperturbed by my resistance. "Power, Serith."
"Enslavement! Corruption! Self-destruction!" I barked.
"And power, Serith," Bisaam repeated.
A pair of Thousand Sons stood behind the Captain, both of them already marked and shaking their heads at my resistance. They were not psykers, but they recognized the subtle signs of our mental confrontation.
"Lord Tzeentch has offered us a new path."
"That vile daemon has cut off all others!" I retorted, gripping my staff. "Has the Changer of Ways grown so BORED with trapping us in his web of lies that we're now to simply fling ourselves into it of our own volition?"
Bisaam took a calming breath. He was patient, but my every shout and retort struck his mind like a needle. Such conduct was not normally tolerated within our ranks, but he surely knew the enormity of what was being asked of me.
"Lord Tzeentch has already taken us," the Captain-Sorcerer grumbled, "he has indeed dragged our Legion through the very fires of destruction and pushed us to the brink." He held up a hand, and it briefly glowed with arcane power. "But it was a lesson, Serith. A display of what the Changer of Ways is capable of. What WE will be capable of. He has defeated us, and now he offers us power and glory at his side, so that we may join in his machinations rather than falling victim to them."
"Then I refuse," I spat, "I would rather fight our old enemy and fall to his guile and misdirection than prostrate myself at his feet and march to war as his pawn. Let the God of Lies at least expend the effort of deceit if he would use me!"
I clapped my gauntlets together, and a clash of thunder had the two mundane Sons flinching back in surprise. I spread my hands, and a bright blue rope of swirling power was strung between them.
"Time and time again are we forced to submit to foolishness and treachery! First the Imperium forbids our craft! Then the Space Wolves descend to break us! Then Warmaster Horus uses us in his failed rebellion! We flee to the Warp, where we must consort with fell creatures and insane cultists, and take ever-greater risks simply to survive this nightmare of existence! In the meantime, the flesh-change continues to claim more and more of our brothers, turning good men to twisted, mindless monstrosities! And now! NOW, the architect of all our misery wishes us to pledge our loyalty and power to his cause? To become his lapdogs and slay whatever enemies he doesn't care to snuff out with his own efforts?!"
My voice was shrill, and my anger quite palpable. It would have physically buffeted a lesser psyker, but Bisaam was much more powerful than I. He washed away my pulse of fury with a wave of his hand, and instilled his icy calm more firmly in my body.
"SERITH," he boomed, icy mist curling around his helmet, "stop this foolishness at once! You knew this was coming! You've watched your brothers take Tzeentch's Mark by the dozen! We need his power! His knowledge! If we are to ever become MORE than the pawns of the Sorcerer God, then we must adapt and learn from him."
"Those who have taken the Mark talk little of how they might rise from servitude," I growled, warding myself from the chilling energies of my superior, "I hear only of promises of revenge against the Imperium and the fallen Emperor. I begin to suspect that Tzeentch has spirited away your memories of who and what prompted our downfall in the first place. It was NOT the Emperor."
"The Emperor was the one who condemned us and our Legion's power!" blurted one of the other Marines. "He declared us outcast! Not Lord Tzeentch!"
"That is to imply that he was WRONG," I snarled, "the events of our downfall have vindicated the Emperor, not our Primarch."
Bisaam shook his head, and his grip tightened around the handle of the force sword mag-locked against his hip. "Serith, it matters little if you see the wisdom in serving Tzeentch before you swear to him. You will certainly see it afterward. As for actually taking the mark..." the light green glimmer of his visor pulsed brighter. "You have no choice. The Primarch has commanded it."
"Ah, yes! More of our beloved father's immaculate, learned wisdom!" I snapped. This time Bisaam was startled by my words, and the other Astartes stepped forward. "To HELL with Magnus the Red!"
The lesser Sons had their bolters leveled at my eyes by the time I finished the sentence. One grabbed my neck, as I did not bear my helmet at the time.
"Take that BACK," he snarled.
"Coryvn," Bisaam warned.
"You think yourself worthy to challenge a Primarch, pup? You think you know BETTER than Magnus?" the Marine snarled, ignoring his Captain.
He let off enough pressure on my throat for me to speak, and I did so.
"Clearly they are not so infallible as we have thought, if they've been divided and make war with each other," my tone was actually calmer now that I was staring down a boltgun's barrel, "I have followed Magnus, who has led us further and further into ruin and disgrace. I have renounced the Emperor, who has been proven right time and time again about our ambitions and hubris. I have accepted and studied the ways of Chaos, so that we might flourish in this treacherous wasteland. Should we take to war again against our former allies, I will not hesitate to slay them with the full brunt of my power."
My eyes narrowed.
"But I will do that at YOUR order, Captain Bisaam, or some other that commands proper Legion authority. Not Tzeentch. NEVER Tzeentch."
"You don't have a choice," growled one of the mundane Sons.
"Of course I do," I chuckled, still staring down the length of his bolter, "I'm looking at it."
The Marine growled.
Then he groaned.
His boltgun started shaking as his arms quivered. One of his legs buckled, and he fell to one knee, gasping.
Bisaam snapped his gaze to me, and I felt his psychic presence surround mine, trying to cut off the flow of Warp energy. "SERITH! Stop this at once!"
His efforts to stop me did nothing, however. Because it wasn't me.
Both of the Astartes with us collapsed screaming, smoke billowing from the seals of their armor.
I was stunned still, partially because of Bisaam's power, and partially out of genuine shock. It looked like the two non-psykers were being cooked alive inside their power armor.
I reached down, grabbing one by the gorget and arm to help him up. The armor was room temperature, and was suffering no obvious damage or radiological effect.
Still, he screamed, his fingers curling and his visor glowing brighter. Bisaam was next to me on the ground, trying to help the other fallen Astartes. Our squabble was forgotten.
Whatever was happening was a thing of sorcery, not physical energy. I could feel something permeating my sixth sense, sweeping through my soul and diffusing into my body. I supposed this is the same effect as that which had laid low the other soldiers, and yet it hardly seemed possible. They were in terrible pain, gasping and gurgling and unable to stand up. I felt... energized and clear-headed, if anything. As if my Warp-sense had suddenly sprung into greater relief. It was difficult to tell, honestly; as I wasn't being harmed at the time, my thoughts were concerned with those who were.
"Coryvn!" Bisaam shouted, shaking the trooper he was trying to help up. Unlike me, he had his helmet on, and was doubtless scanning his subordinate to figure out what was wrong. I'm sure the data returned was perfectly useless,
"Coryvn! Can you hear me? Can you stand?!"
The power armor went fully limp, and a plume of golden smoke curled from the soldier's vox grille.
"Serith! To the apothecarion!" He lifted Coryvn's arm up so that he could sling his other vambrace underneath Coryvn's legs.
The shoulder joint broke, and the power armor suit dropped back onto the ground. I could see into the torso armor from the arm hole.
There was nothing inside.
Nothing but dust.
****
Trixie's quarters
"Question!" Trixie interrupted. "If you were so against working for this 'Tzeentch' weirdo, why did you join Chaos at all?"
That gave Serith pause. "... I was expecting something more immediately related to bodies turning into dust-filled suits of armor."
"Trixie figures you'll get to that part later," the unicorn shrugged, "but seriously, you talk about the Dark Gods and how they grant you power and knowledge all the time. Tzeentch is one of them, isn't he?"
Serith grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "It is... different, to take a Mark. To allow a Chaos God to Mark you is to announce yourself, body, mind, and soul, as that God's servant and plaything. Chaos as a whole comprises myriad philosophies, methods to acquire power, and mighty creatures that may answer your demands. It is a self-serving faith, from the beginning to the VERY bitter end, and the only power that offers any worthy patronage and support outside of the Imperium."
Serith's gauntlet started to trace the Chaos Star on his breast plate. "To take a Mark is to subordinate yourself to that God. To put its will and whims above your own life. It grants greater power and favor, true, but it is a much shorter leash than I desire."
Serith made a snorting noise that seemed to echo within his helmet. "As I refuse to serve Tzeentch, my options are anyway quite restricted. Khorne will not abide Sorcerers. Slaanesh is despised by my current masters more than the Imperium itself. And I find Nurgle... unappealing, generally." Serith scoffed. "Not that he would favor me, either. I have no flesh or organs to infect."
"Ugh. Trixie couldn't agree more about Nurgle. Trixie pities those three plague mares." She crunched some oats and gestured for the Sorcerer to continue. "So what happened to the guys?"
"Ahriman," Serith hissed, "Ahzek Ahriman happened. In order to combat the flesh-change that was ruining our surviving brothers, he cast a rubric spell over all of the planet to cure us. Those of us with psionic power were indeed cured. Our mutation rate normalized, such that only the more useful changes granted by the Dark Gods might affect us. Our psychic powers were stronger than ever. Truly, it was a miraculous ritual." His tone suggested otherwise. "Meanwhile, every one of our brothers without a sixth sense crumbled to dust within their armor. They became enchanted automatons, even more empty and mindless than the mechanicals this fleet sometimes employs."
Trixie briefly imagined if something happened such that unicorns were empowered and all pegasi and earth ponies became empty puppets. She shuddered. While she was sometimes accused of holding the other pony races in contempt, the idea of them being ruined to the unicorns' benefit was horrible.
"Ahriman was... satisfied with his spell. Others were not."
****
Planet of the Sorcerers - time period unknown
I stalked up to the doors that led to the laboratories of Ahzek Ahriman, my staff already buzzing with energy.
Two Rubric Marines, the dust-filled golems that now populated our Legion by the hundreds, stood guard at the entrance. I could feel their souls, each one like a blank slate in the Warp. Their thoughts consisted only of the last order they had received, repeated over and over again.
I detonated the door. The Rubrics were flung off their feet and onto the floor, and the entrance was open. I sprinted inside, my hands crackling and my eyes ablaze.
Ahriman was inside, shifting through his materials and equipment. He didn't look up as I entered.
He did look up once I hurled a spear of black lightning against him, and the shadowy energy broke against his armor like water against a stone, washing away harmlessly in the currents of his psychic might.
"... Okay, wait," Ahriman mumbled, "... who are you?" I wore the Legion colors, obviously, but I was not of any power or rank that he would recognize me.
"DIE!!" I snapped, summoning more power around myself. Beakers and vials nearby shattered of their own volition, and the sturdier lab equipment started to tremble from my aura.
Then it was extinguished. Ahriman stripped my strength away, suppressing it with his own titanic will. He flung a palm in my direction, and I flew back to slam into a wall.
He could have finished me off there, or called in the recovering Rubric Marines outside to do it, but he did not.
"I should have foreseen this, obviously," Ahriman mumbled, shaking his head, "tell me, Brother... Serith," he had to read my power armor's identification rune, I suspect, "why do you seek my death? This is clearly an assault of passion, and did not involve extensive planning."
"Why do you THINK?!" I snarled, pushing my will against his and trying to stand up again. "You've taken our Legion, broken and violated, and dragged it to new depths! Your damned Rubric has slain hundreds of our brothers!"
Ahriman sighed, letting his concentration slip off of me slightly. "Yes, I know. Do YOU know that I've already been punished for this? I am exile, now. By order of our Primarch."
"To HELL with Magnus the Red!" I snapped. Ahriman was surprised enough to hear this that he stopped pushing me down, and I surged to my feet. "That's not good enough! You will suffer, as they suffered!"
I grabbed my bolt pistol, but as I tried to aim it the weapon practically dissolved in my hand, wilting and deforming far past the point of possibly firing a bullet.
"Our brother Rubrics do not suffer," Ahriman said. His voice was still calm and unhurried, but there was some other aspect to it now that was harder to understand. He sounded... intrigued. "Our brothers need not fear the flesh-change, and are no longer troubled by pain, age, disease, or-"
"THEY ARE NO LONGER OUR BROTHERS!" I roared. "Just empty, walking armor shells carrying guns, same as you'd find in any collegio cybernetica! You've killed them! You've killed ALL of them!"
Ahriman made a frustrated sound. "It was... unintended. Unfortunate. But-"
"Unfortunate?! You have ruined our Legion in ways that not even the Space Wolves or Tzeentch himself could manage! The Rubrics were Space Marines, Ahriman! They were people! Our battle brothers! You've turned our army of scholars into one of servitors!"
Ahriman fell silent. I could feel irritation and regret bubbling around his thoughts, although I couldn't tell if he was frustrated at my words or his inability to sway me.
"So, then..." he mumbled finally, clasping his hands behind his back, "what do you intend to do about it, Brother Serith?"
This time it was my frustration that surged.
"Obviously your first idea was to attack and destroy me for revenge, but that is both futile and... unproductive," he mused aloud. I was at his mercy and he knew it. "What now, young Sorcerer? Shall you swear your long life to revenge against me? Promise to hunt me down for the sake of these hundreds of souls that cannot appreciate your... heroism?"
I calmed myself, and my head scanned back and forth. Ahriman's notes still littered the desks and benches. I could see the information scattered across them; precious secrets gleaned from the writings of Magnus and the whispers of Tzeentch.
I slammed my hand down on one stack of papers. "I will undo it," I hissed.
Ahriman sounded surprised. "Unmake the Rubric? Really?"
"There must be a way," I insisted, now gathering up the papers in earnest, "destruction wrought by Sorcery is often more mutable than that caused by material weapons. Change works in many directions. This can be reversed. Our brothers restored."
Ahriman laughed. He LAUGHED at me. He kept on laughing as I gathered his notes and started rooting through his equipment.
"Oh, my, Serith," he chuckled, "if only I'd had a Sorcerer like you by my side when I began this venture. One not so easily blinded by the whims of dark gods and the will of our father." His visor glimmered. "What a lonely creature you are."
I growled as I folded up one batch of notes and then pointed at him. "Your research. Give it to me! All of it! I WILL restore our Legion, I swear it!"
Ahriman was clearly fighting not to laugh further as he replied to me. "Serith, friend... precognition is my primary talent. I have glimpsed the distant futures, some split into branches of possibility, and others clear and inevitable. I have seen our Legion's fate writ large upon the galaxy." He walked up to me, his visor glittering in the candlelight. "And you... are not part of it."
"Wow, what a JERK."
You don't know the half of it, my lady...
****
Trixie's quarters
Trixie scratched her head with a hoof. "Trixie is surprised. Why so passionate about the non-psykers in your army? Around here, you initially assumed that the non-unicorns were our slaves."
"My disdain for those without a sixth sense is a learned opinion. Not least by the Rubric of Ahriman itself." Serith chuckled ruefully. "One man is empowered and cleansed by the sorceries, stronger than ever and with his faculties intact. The next is reduced, screaming, to a pile of dust within his own armor, fated to spend the rest of existence as a mindless slave. Such is the difference between the psyker and the mundane mortal." His chuckling stopped. "I'm not completely sure why their fate angered me so. I suppose it was pride in my Legion, so desperately battered by our trials during the Heresy. I did not wish to see our army desecrated further after it had fallen so far. And the Rubric Marines did not deserve their fate. They were not subdued by some mighty warlock who overcame them in battle or by arcane trickery. Their fate was an incident of a flawed ritual, an error on the part of a Sorcerer acting without sanction from them or his Primarch. Their fate was a failure on our part. Or so it was said."
He slammed a fist into the wall again. "There is, of course, the theory that the Rubric was modified without Ahriman's consent or knowledge. That the Changer of Ways inflicted this cruelty upon us even as we submitted to him in droves. My defiant attitude toward Tzeentch was not uncommon amongst our mundane brothers, who obviously had less to gain from an alliance with the God of Sorcery. Many of them may have refused to serve the God of Change under any circumstances. The Rubric of Ahriman neatly resolved such resistance; the Rubric Marines were branded with Tzeentch's Mark and issued no complaint. My own stubborn independence was conveniently forgotten among the Legion's trauma and the divisions that followed Ahriman's departure into exile. A few hold-outs against Tzeentch no longer mattered, so long as they obeyed Legion orders."
Trixie gulped down another mouthful of oats as she listened intently. "So, what happened? Did you study a way to reverse the Rubric?"
"I did," Serith nodded, "for five thousand years, I studied Ahriman's notes and conducted my experiments. The entire time I also faithfully carried out my Legion duties, and I had to keep my work hidden. I feared meddling from Tzeentch's servants, who surrounded me constantly on the Planet of the Sorcerers."
Trixie snorted. "Goofy name."
Serith sighed. "Magnus the Red was, as your people say, something of a nerd. At times I'm quite ashamed to share his gene-seed." He shook his head. "In any case, after five millennia, something happened that shook the remnants of my Legion. Something so unexpected and devastating that some say Tzeentch himself was rattled to learn of it."
Trixie's eyes widened. "What happened?"
A puff of dust billowed from Serith's vox grille as he sighed. "I succeeded."
****
Planet of the Sorcerers - approximately five thousand years ago
I grunted as I was thrown onto a glistening obsidian floor carved with intricate runes. Rubric Marines surrounded me, as did a trio of Sorcerers with their force weapons drawn.
Standing over me was Bisaam. The millennia had changed my coven's captain, as had service to Tzeentch. Electricity seemed to dance constantly over the surface of his terminator armor, and his right arm had become a twisted, reptilian claw. He carried no force weapon, but I knew that to be grazed by his mutated talons would kill a man just as surely as being impaled on a force sword.
Lying before the Sorcerer Lord were several pieces of inert power armor. Bisaam was staring at them intently, as if willing them to move.
"What is this?" His voice was soft, but every syllable stabbed into my mind and sent shoots of pain down my back.
"This... is just a little personal project of mine," I hissed. I remained on my knees as I stared up at him. "I've had something of a breakthrough, recently. It is almost complete."
Bisaam reached down and picked up the helmet lying beneath him. It was empty. Not even dust dirtied its interior. "This... was a Rubric Marine."
"Eighteen of them were found in this state, Lord," growled another of the Sorcerers, "completely inert. Destroyed."
"FREED," I shouted. "I've freed their souls from their long imprisonment and sent them to true rest. No longer do they toil obliviously like machines." I coughed, and glanced down at the blood seeping from a breach in my armor. My brothers had not been gentle in subduing me. "The ritual is imperfect. I am still refining it. But it works. I can shatter the Rubric, and I know what further steps must be taken. Soon I will be able to restore their bodies as well, to release that energy and matter sealed away so long ago, and return them fully to true Space Marines. At last, Ahriman's curse will be undone, and some portion of our Legion's former stature will be restored."
Bisaam took his time to digest this, and then leaned forward. "No. It will not."
"Yeah, Trixie saw this coming."
I'm quite embarrassed to admit that I did not. I truly thought my Legion masters would embrace this opportunity and relish the chance to command true Space Marines rather than ensorcelled drones. My mistake.
"For millennia I have tolerated your stubbornness and disobedience, Serith," Bisaam sighed, tossing away the Rubric helmet, "for millennia I've ignored the whispers that you were dangerous and that your independence was a threat. And now it seems I've paid the price for my negligence."
With a flurry of thought, the inert armor floated up and reassembled itself into a complete power armor suit. Then he released it from his telekinetic hold, and it tumbled back to the floor into pieces.
"Eighteen Rubric Marines. Do you imagine they are simple to replace?" he asked.
"I do," I snapped angrily, "servitors are in no short supply."
His visor pulsed, and a wave of agony washed over me. In truth it could have been much worse, but I was cushioning the assault with my own psychic power. The gap in our abilities was not as severe as it once was.
"Rubric Marines are a Legion asset. They are useful. Valuable," Bisaam growled, "and I've come to appreciate how they don't TALK BACK."
"They are an abomination!" I shouted defiantly. "No other Legion makes slaves of their own Astartes! Ahriman's curse has plagued us for too long! This is our chance to end it! To correct Ahriman's mistake!"
"Ahriman's MISTAKE was political, not arcane," the Sorcerer Lord spat, "had he explained the benefits of the Rubric soldiers, rather than insisting they were a price that needed to be paid, perhaps he would have escaped exile."
I trembled in rage, but I kept a tight leash on my powers. I was still surrounded and quite outgunned.
"I think Magnus the Red would disagree," I retorted, "both with your assessment, and your actions against me now."
Bisaam leaned forward, his terminator armor creaking as he brought his helm almost nose-to-nose with mine.
"To hell with Magnus the Red," he whispered.
"Okay, Trixie thinks this guy is a total mule, but has to admit that was a pretty solid burn."
Oh, indeed. Absolutely brilliant. I was in no position to appreciate his wit at the time, however.
Bisaam backed away again. "Your experiments end now. Your research will be destroyed. You are now outcast, and with your departure the entirety of the Thousand Sons at last belongs to Tzeentch."
"Exile, then. Like Ahriman," I grunted, "how symmetrical."
This actually gave my former lord pause. "Ah... but Lord Tzeentch cares little for symmetry." He tilted his head to the side. "... I know; let's make this more interesting. There is a Dark Mechanicus vessel in orbit currently offloading supplies and vehicles." He tapped the chin of his helmet with a claw, his voice amused. "As you're no doubt aware, we don't get on all that well with the tin men. They'll deal with us, but they generally dislike the supplies we have to trade and refuse to set foot on our world." I didn't need to be a psyker to detect the smile beneath his helmet. "Perhaps a gift might improve our unsteady relations."
"So I'm to be passed off to them like cargo," I growled.
"That little extra bit of humiliation is just the right touch to separate your fate from that of Ahriman's, I feel," said Bisaam, "think of it as a way to empathize more deeply with your Rubric brothers, since you seem to care so deeply for their plight. Now you too are little but chattel to us!"
And so it was. I was handed off to the Dark Mechanicus in chains and imprisoned within the stasis fields of their ships.
The Mechanicus loathes psykers, but it well understands that our kind have value, especially when combined with Astartes flesh. The Dark Techpriests wouldn't dare put me to work or experiment upon me, but they were eager to pass me along once they found a... buyer.
"The 38th Company..."
Indeed. I was sold to Warsmith Solon like a prize pet. Quite beneficial for all involved; the Iron Warriors are lacking in accomplished Sorcerers, and the Dark Mechanicus covets the Warsmith's trinkets desperately. I hear I fetched quite a price. Even I, arguably, benefited from the exchange. Now that I was an Iron Warrior, I again possessed rank and title with which I could accomplish my goals, and no longer had to suffer the constant presence of Tzeentch's lackeys.
But this was cold comfort to me. My failures had cost me membership of my Legion, the only peers I had known for my entire long life. The Iron Warriors - as I mentioned previously - were a pitiful and morbid lot, and few besides Solon showed any appreciation for my skills and knowledge.
I was determined not to give up. Although my research had been destroyed, I had fully memorized my ritual and could replicate much of my work. I would perfect it, and then, one day, I would return to the Planet of the Sorcerers. I would face the armies of the Thousand Sons, and I would restore their Rubric Marines on the very battlefield! With their will finally restored and their slavemasters reeling, we would then see where their loyalties lay!
But this plan was... flawed, obviously. Without the Thousand Sons, I had no Rubric Marines to use for my experiments.
As such... I had to make some, first.
"Are you going to describe the time when you met Solon for the first time and realized how ridiculous he was? Trixie was hoping there would be some kind of confrontation between you two in this story."
No, I will not. The Warsmith is... strange. He is my benefactor, but I do not hesitate to admit that I despise him, utterly.
"Because he's a goofball loser?"
No. I resent him for... other reasons.
Enough. This tale is almost over.
****
Harvest of Steel - approximately two thousand years ago
"Treacherous witch! We will gut you where you stand!"
I watched the Iron Warrior calmly as he strained and writhed against the black iron chains securing him to the floor.
"You're alone, traitor! Surrounded! Do you think I will not be missed?!"
He was in full armor, of course. Necessary to contain his remains after the Rubric had run its course. Unfortunate, seeing how it made it hard to restrain him, but I was prepared.
"Do you think to break me?! You think I will fall to your witchcraft?! Try it, scum! My soul is hard as my plate! I WILL be free of these bonds, and I WILL rend you limb from limb!"
All around the room were long rows of glyphs and arcane circles, each one etched to perfection from my memory. I'd studied them hundreds of thousands of times. Everything was perfect.
The Iron Warrior eventually paused in his struggles, glaring at me through his visor of bloody red. "Nothing to say, wretch? Did you trick me here just to watch me squirm? Why am I here?"
"You are here for an experiment," I said simply, answering his question politely.
"Really, It's the least you could do before obliterating his mind and turning him into dust."
Exactly. He did not seem to appreciate my courtesy, however.
"To hell with you, Sorcerer! You won't get away with this!" he snapped. "When I perish, my brothers will know of my death! They will notice my absence! How long do you think you can hide my capture and destruction?!"
"As long as I need to," I answered with a chuckle, "for when I am through with you, you will still seem alive to your fellow warriors. You will attend your guard details as normal." I raised my arms, and psychic hoarfrost surrounded my vambrace. "In time, if things go according to plan, you will even recover what I'm about to take from you."
The glyphs lit up all around us, and the room was bathed in ghostly light.
"But, sadly, sorcerous endeavors don't always proceed... just as planned."
That line proved to be supremely ironic.
You see, I had never cast the Rubric of Ahriman before, even in its reduced form. I had studied it intensely and constantly, worked out its component rituals and energies, but I had never actually used it.
To this day, I'm still not sure what went wrong. Perhaps my memory of the Rubric was not as complete as I thought. Perhaps trying to constrain the effects to one room complicated things in an unexpected way. Perhaps I simply failed to cast it properly.
Whatever the cause was, soon after the arcane circles lit ablaze with Warpflame, the Iron Warrior started screaming.
As did I.
There is no experience that can quite compare to the agony of your cells imploding around you, from your skin down to your bones. It may not be literally the worst pain one can suffer, but I would wager it is close. Having been unable to feel pain for so long, it's all I can recall of the sensation. Somehow, I too was being turned to dust, and I could swear that the Iron Warrior's screams turned to laughter as we both crumbled together. It must have been quite satisfying for him to see me suffer the exact same fate as I'd inflicted upon him.
Regardless, within a minute, darkness took me.
I was largely insensate as a mound of dust, but not completely so. My physical senses were ruined completely; I still cannot fathom how the actual Rubric Marines function properly within their powered armor. I suppose my case was just different, as a psyker. My only sense was my connection to the Warp, and even this awareness was confused and stilted. I knew that I was not dead, as my Warp sense held a firm connection to the Materium, but without a proper body to anchor to, I was powerless in both realms. My thoughts were horribly fragmented, splintering my comprehension. I could not even think straight.
I could do nothing but wait, and wait I did.
And then I woke up.
****
Harvest of Steel - Solon's forge
"Wh-What? What is... What is happening?" I asked.
Consciousness crashed down on me like a lightning strike. I could suddenly form coherent thoughts. Vision flickered before me, instantly restored. I spoke, and then I heard words.
I was alive. Truly alive, no longer trapped in that bizarre purgatory of my own making.
"Ah-ha! It worked! Heh! Shliver wash about to write you off completely, you know!"
A voice. The Warsmith's voice. My lips curved into an irritated sneer.
Or, at least, they would have.
While trying and failing to make facial expressions, I started to piece together what had happened to me.
My mundane senses were muted, and filtered through my helmet systems more directly than ever before. They also seemed less comprehensive than I remembered; I could see and hear, but my sense of touch was simply... gone. As was all sense of muscle control.
"What happened to me? Where am I?" I demanded.
"You're in my forge," Solon said. The Warsmith loomed over me, and I could hear his many torches and tools burning against my armor. "Ash for what happened, that'sh... well, I'm not completely shure. When we found you, you were nothing but dusht in your armor."
My mind reeled. The Rubric had consumed me. Me! A psyker! And yet, my consciousness was whole again. I had not been lost, as the Rubric Marines are. How?
"How did this happen? How have I been restored?!" My voice was the harsh crackle of a vox system, but it had a subtle electronic quality to it. Like an automata's voice.
"Oh, I came up with a little shomething. Look!"
Solon grabbed my helm and lifted it. My scope of vision followed his movements, for at the moment I had no way of resisting or moving on my own.
I saw my armor, lying on an iron table. The chest plate was open. The phylactery lay inside it, hissing quietly as it did its work. A container for my soul, made of tubes and bulbs.
I was stunned, but soon continued my search for answers. My chronometer was functional, and I checked it to see how long it had been since I miscast the Rubric of Ahriman.
Four standard solar cycles.
In that moment, I finally knew the totality of my failure. My attempt to merely match Ahriman's work had unmade me. My understanding of his ritual was flawed. My research was useless. I would never be able to restore my lost brothers.
And that which I had been unable to accomplish in millennia, Solon had done in four days.
"Less than that, probably. They did have to find you and figure out what happened, first. And decide whether they wanted to bring you back in the first place."
... True. I hadn't thought of that.
"From now on you'll have to control your armor movementsh with telekineshish," the Warsmith rambled, unaware of my building despair and fury, "or did you want me to inshtall a mechanical mushcle shyshtem?"
I screamed. Plating folded inward and flames bloomed from nowhere as my howls punctured the veil of the Empyrean. Tables quivered and hololiths stuttered. I intended to swallow the room in the Warp and end my new existence as a clockwork wraith.
Solon's optical array flickered, and my efforts ceased. The flames guttered and died, the machinery settled, and the malforming metal snapped back to form.
With but a thought, Warsmith Solon had cut off my access to the Warp. My sixth sense was blinded. My entire sensory consciousness contracted to the point of seeing and hearing through my helmet, and absolutely nothing else.
"Now, let'sh not do anything hashty," Solon warned as he put my head back down, "you're probably a bit shtreshed from having your shoul shattered and then shqueezed into a vacuum tube. Get shome resht, Sherith."
As my optical visor started to cycle off, I reflected that I had been mistaken, earlier. I hadn't truly understood how completely I'd failed.
I had not just lost my body, but any hope of escaping the dregs of the 38th Company. My future was inexorably bound with the oaf Solon, for he now understood my form in ways that completely eluded me. Resistance and escape was impossible. This was my new eternity. An altogether unique damnation of my own making.
"What happened to the other guy?"
****
Trixie's quarters
"Pardon?" Serith asked, tilting his head to the side.
"That Iron Warrior you were experimenting on. What happened to him? You dusted him too, right?" Trixie asked around some more oats.
Serith took a few moments to think. "... You know, I haven't the slightest idea. That's a good question." Serith crossed his arms over his chest. "Warsmith Solon would have restored him too, unless for some reason that wasn't possible. Huh."
A contemplative silence settled over the room.
"... Well, in any case, Trixie sees why you don't want more people to know about your past," the unicorn said, patting Serith's leg sympathetically, "you're not nearly as evil as everyone thinks you are!"
"Don't tell ANYONE," Serith hissed.
Trixie nodded her head, and then furrowed her brow. "So... what about restoring your Legion? Are you still trying to do that?"
"No. I have given up my long quest. A true mark of shame for those gifted with life eternal," Serith spat, "I suppose that such a thing may be entirely possible now, if Warsmith Solon could be convinced to construct a great number of phylacteries, but I care not. I am too embittered to seek such a trite fantasy, and the Thousand Sons are no longer my Legion."
Then he raised his head. "That said, I do sometimes fantasize about returning to the Planet of the Sorcerers. But it would be no crusade of revival and brotherhood."
He gripped his gauntlets into fists, and sparks blasted from his vambrace as energy ran over it. "I am a Rubric Sorcerer, a golem psyker, the only one of my kind. Enchantments to foil flesh have no effect upon me, and I would wreak havoc amongst the feeble remnants of my former Legion. What is more, I still possess the ritual to unmake Ahriman's puppet soldiers and free their souls; the Rubric Marines of the Thousand Sons are nothing to me."
Serith blew out a sigh. "But such a conflict is... unlikely. I have no goals, no direction. No purpose to aid the passage of the centuries. Nothing but the diversions of Solon's petty tasks and my little hobbies with which to amuse me."
He paused again, and then his gaze dropped to Trixie. "I suppose I also have your exquisite company, Lady Trixie. For so long as you last, at least."
Trixie didn't seem at all bothered by the offhand mention of her mortality. "Well, when Trixie finally goes to that big stable in the sky, at least you'll still have Twilight Sparkle to annoy. Trixie is pretty sure she's immortal."
"Really? The alicorns possess eternal life?" The Sorcerer sounded deeply intrigued. "You'd think there would be more around, then. Are they forced to cross-breed with other sub-species? I haven't heard of any alicorn Princes, after all."
"Well, Trixie is pretty sure that-"
****
Ferrous Dominus - Solon's forge
Twilight paused the playback, not especially interested in hearing Serith and Trixie speculate on the mating habits of the royal family.
She dropped her gaze to the floor, her thoughts churning about her head. Minutes passed, and the only sound was the hum of energy and the creaking noise of Solon's mechanical body.
Finally, she looked up at the Warsmith.
"What DID happen to that Iron Warrior?" Twilight asked.
Solon's body swiveled around. "Oh, Brother Vendrik? He wash fine. Sherith actually only managed to deshtroy hish arm. A little bionicsh work and he wash better than new."
"Oh, wow. That's... kind of sad, somehow," Twilight mumbled, "I have to admit, this really puts Serith in a new light. He always seemed so... casually competent and untouchable."
"It'sh an impression he worksh hard to maintain," Solon explained, "it makesh hish failuresh all the more embarashing, I'm shure."
"I don't really understand his enmity for you, though," Twilight considered, "you saved his life!"
"He doeshn't particularly think it wash worth shaving." Solon shrugged his massive shoulders. "Furthermore, hish entire Legion philoshophy eshpoushed the shuperiority of pshykersh to the mundane technologiesh shanctified and praished by the machine cultsh. He ish a walking, talking refutation of that ideal. A creature of conshiderable pshychic power reshcued from hish own incompetence by my machinesh. He findsh it quite galling."
"Ah. I see. It still seems kind of petty, but I understand." Twilight mumbled. "As interesting and enlightening as all this is, it doesn't really help my situation, though. Serith is still trying to kill my friends, and I don't think empathizing with him is going to stop him."
Solon waved his flesh-arm, and a new hololith slid up into place. "Oh, that'sh nothing. I'll upload Sherith'sh killshwitch program to your armor. You can deactivate him whenever you wish."
"Really?" Twilight frowned. "I don't think that will stop him from wanting to kill us, though."
"Oh, it mosht certainly won't. He HATESH the killshwitch. It cutsh off hish pshychic abilitiesh, and hish armor tendsh to jusht fall apart on the shpot. It'sh hilarioush!" Solon chuckled as the upload finished, and then he dismissed the hololith.
"Well, I still think-"
Twilight was cut off by a feminine yelp, and she jumped to her hooves as an energy spark flashed within the cage in the middle of the forge.
After a few seconds of watching the magic flare sputter, Princess Luna was dumped into reality behind the bars of Solon's prison. She was not wearing her armor, and as she stared at the bars of the cage she was clearly wondering if that had been a mistake.
"... What? Wherefore hast We arrived here?" Luna asked, glancing about in confusion.
"I'm going to get a lot of ushe out of that teleport inhibitor, I can tell," the Warsmith drawled.
"You know, you could have just asked us not to come in unannounced if it bothers you so much," Twilight mumbled as Luna continued to panic.
"I would have thought the shentry gunsh, armored blasht doorsh, and lack of formal accesh would have made thingsh perfectly clear," Solon retorted before swiveling back around, "I'll bet Celeshtia doesn't have to put up with thish..."
"Ah, excuse us? Warsmith? Princess Sparkle?" Luna asked nervously as she pawed at the bars of her prison. "Hast We made some error? We do not recall doing anything to cause offense..."
"Yeah, I should... I should just go," Twilight mumbled as her horn started to glow. A moment later she vanished in a burst of purple light.
A moment after THAT, she reappeared over Luna and then fell on top of her as the larger Princess shouted in surprise.
Solon swiveled back around. "You desherved that one," he said to the armored alicorn as Twilight groaned, "what did you expect would happen?"
Another teleport flare flashed within the cage, and the two mares yelped as yet another body collapsed on top of them.
Solon's optics whirled in their socket. "... Dishcord? Huh. I'm shurprished the inhibitor worksh on you."
"Oh, it doesn't," Discord snickered as he laid limply over the ponies' backs, "but everypony else was doing it, so I wanted to join in!"
"Get off us, daemon oaf!" Luna demanded, flapping her wings angrily.
"Turn off the inhibitor! Please, turn off the inhibitor!" Twilight shouted. "Don't leave us in here with him!"
"Maybe I'll jusht go turn off Sherith myshelf," Solon mumbled as he scuttled toward the exit, "I could use the catharshish."
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Pore little Serith
, an eternity of incompetents and failures and a waking taking joke for the entire legion 
it's so funny that I can't help some how to think it's sad... in some way. this was a big surprise to see that he is not as crafty as he seemed.
Twilight was still more worried about the cameras if the point of the cameras was to study Dusk Blade's means of ingress and egress?
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That wasn't the "point" of the cameras, that was just the particular reason Solon had for reviewing the footage from her room.
The point of the vid-captures is to allow the Iron Warriors to keep track of everything anybody does inside the fortress, and yes, Twilight objects to that.
This was just the perfect backstory for a Thousand Sons turned Iron Warrior. All the tragedy, pride and ultimately failure of the former, and all the futility and stubbornness of the latter. Serith may not appreciate it, but he really is home.
so like...twi/dusk is a thing?
(totally appreciate the artwork too)
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I get the sense that Dusk is sneaking into Twilight's room and watching her sleep or something of that nature.
At least, that's the vibe I was getting.
A lovely chapter! This epilogue style stuff has me really excited to see what comes next. I can't wait to see one for Solon (if you do one) and one for Sliver, of course, cause I got on the hype train for that one. :P
I think one thing that could be helpful to new readers is if, in the chapters of the main story the directly precede the chapters here, you can make a mark saying, "At this point, Chapter X of Visions of darkness will have the most context, if you want to go read that now."
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I can understand that. I was tickled that Twilight wasn't as upset with the possibility of Dusk Blade coming and going as she sleeps than as she was with the reason of total surveillance in an alien fortress.
Welp. You did it. You made me pity Serith.
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I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't know what I was doing! Please, forgive me!
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I think she's warming up to him!
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Solon is kind of a unique case. His thing is important and impressive enough that I'm probably going to leave it to be explained in a normal plot line rather than as a side-chapter like this.
I like your idea about letting people know when the relevant Visions chapters happen along the main story, though. I didn't mean for it to matter when I set out, but looking at it now, it definitely matters.
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Deleted scene:
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I'm imagining Dusk Blade's voice as that of Miles Luna, voice of Jean Arc in RWBY and Felix in Red vs Blue, because he can swap between youthful eagerness and focused malevolence.
Excellent chapter. As others have said, I never expected to feel pity for Serith, and he would probably kill anyone that espouses such an inclination. It seems the back-story of everyone in the 38th company is filled with hardship and unjust persecution. Except Tellis; he's just nuts, and Kharne is a really great guy.
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Arguably, neither Dest or Gaela suffered much hardship or unjust persecution.
Dest just lost a battle and was recruited into an army that mostly ignored him. Gaela's persecution is only "unjust" to the extent that the AdMech has lousy rules; she willingly and knowingly violated the laws of her institution for her personal curiosity.
6374527 The Imperium is a society that fundamentally runs on injustice, from the highest levels to the lowest, zealotry, ignorance, hipocracy, and corruption are the order of the day. The sad fact is that all of the other options seem to be worse.
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Oh, well, from THAT perspective, sure.
I can only hope that Rainbow doesn't somehow get her hooves on that killswitch. I'd have to go stock up on spare sides from them splitting too often.
The most important question is:
Does Dusk Blade sparkle in sunlight?
One thing though, Serith stopped his research because Solon presumably did it better. But still, if he were to combine the two (unlikely but possible if given enough motivation to screw with his old chapter) or just complete his own research and restore his old chapter, wouldn't that be like a giant middle finger to Ahriman(sp?) and his 'powers' as well as his entire old chapter.
Petty spite seems to be right up Serith's alley, I don't see why he doesn't take his research up again just to screw his old chapter.
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It was a combination of things, really. For one thing, being stripped of a noble, self-righteous goal absolutely killed his motivation for continuing with the difficult research rather than just doing his own thing. It's not like trying to reverse the sorcerous masterpiece of one of the most accomplished psykers ever - backed up by the will of a major Chaos God - is easy. For another thing, getting dusted revealed to Serith that he didn't actually understand the Rubric of Arhiman as well as he thought. Considering that much of his research may have been worthless at that point, Serith was all too ready to give up permanently.
I'm surprised no one else mentioned how funny it was that Twilight thought she could just teleport out of the forge immediatly after Luna teleported in to that cage. Heck I ended up laughing so hard I was gasping for breath.
I only recently even learned of the rubric MAri8nes...that's messed up. and I'm Certain the only reason the chapter master doesn't care about the rubric marines is because the great changer was been twisting his mind for thousands of years, honestly fuck the chaos gods
So Serith hates Tzeentch, huh? Rather unusual for a sorcerer, as ones who swear themselves to other Gods still tend to honor him. Maybe that’s why he fails so spectacularly? Hell, maybe Tzeentch added to the Orks impossib breech of the Warp Storm just to spite him. Also, I would imagine Tzeentch to be the sort to put safeguards in spells like the Rubic to absolutely backfire on someone who wasn’t sworn to him.
Also, makes me very glad he didn’t get his hands on Sweetie Belle. That would not have ended well for her. At all.
Also, he’s a Lich! He’s got a phylactary and everything! He’s Nagash’s failure of a 40k counter part!
The Warp may be cruel, but never let it be said it can't enjoy a really, really long joke.
So, well I get it wouldn’t be as funny, aren’t the Rubric Marines joints fused together and impossible to take apart naturally? And the only way to temporarily kill them is to dismember them and let the soul dust leak out, which only lasts until a Sorcerer puts the dust back in?
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They aren't fused, just locked, or they wouldn't be able to bend. Presumably, because the suits are fully pressurized sealed armor, they could stand without anyone inside and wouldn't come apart with slight jostling and the Rubric suits would be even harder to take apart because SORCERY AND WITCHCRAFT, but I haven't seen anything that suggests it's impossible.
But yeah, mostly it's just that the narrative effect of the suits falling apart was too good to pass up.
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I’m half imagining a Thousands Son sorcerer appearing to try and kill Serith with a little squad of Rubric Marines and Rainbow Dash Rainbow Bustering them and them breaking apart and falling like a group of bowling pins
Ya know, if he told Ahriman that he managed to even halfway fix the Rubricaes, the Exile would be absolutely thrilled. Ahriman would give almost anything to fix his mistake and the favour of the grand sorcerer ascendant is a very valuable thing indeed.