Children of Terra

~A time unfathomable~ ~In a hall so grand~ ~It drives men to madness~ ~???, Echo of the Lion, Declarer of Siaynoq, Emperor-Regent in His Name, and Last Tyrant of Humanity~       Every ten years, in a revival of the culture of Onn, administrators are called to the Old Capitol Planet.  The Emperor demanded history be not forgotten, and woe was the rage he bore when he saw the heretical archives.  It was anecdotally noted that the Emperor took one look upon the remnant repository, and declared thus in breach of the Festival:         'This is all that's left?  Everything Ari did for you, died for you, and how do you repay that?!  Evelyn!  What is this heresy?'  Supposedly, the Emperor allowed the ichor of his rage weep upon the ornate floor.  What divine blessings!  'Bring me every Remembrancer, every Historian, every Archaeologist, any and all that claim with pretension the authority of history, and their entire genetic heritages down the detectable level.  Bring them to Arrakis.  To my Onn.'        The Emperor regaled we with the History Forgotten.  How the Honored Mothers scoured the Origin Galaxy, how they sought after the secrets within, how they pillaged and ravaged and brought the Most Holy Land to ruin.  The Emperor did not forget, and he did not forgive.  He only terraformed one section of Arrakis-once-Rakis.  A small patch of land in the far northern hemisphere, turned from molten volcanic slag to a desert.  The Sareer.  The last remnant of the Golden Lion Imperium.        Within the Sareer was the only city of Arrakis, the Festival City Onn.  It was small by Imperial standards, essentially only the Imperial Palace and functionary dormitories.  Given the juxtaposition of this grand construct surrounded by the wastelands scoured of all life before, it was a pale shade in solemn memory.  None would ever know the names of Tabr or Tuono.  The river Idaho where the Great Dividing occurred.  The Emperor insisted the Prophet wished thus.  But why?        And it was within Onn that the special council was held.  An Imperial censure upon the 'official records' that so grossly disseminated in the Origin Galaxy in the Times Since.  Months were given for the accused to prepare counterarguments, despite the fact that the geriatric Spice allowed for instantaneous travel.  There were no more excuses for logistics in the wake of the Technology Revival.  It was within the Palace of the Lion Throne that the records set straight.       ~Council of Antiquioi~ ~Grand Palace Leo Imperatum~ ~Onn, capitol of Arrakis~ ~???, Eldest of the Sionans, Lord Marshal of the Necromonger Horde~     Everyone knew it was a farce.  That is, everyone within the Old Imperium.  Everyone that lived and breathed in the blight of the Original Way.  But, the technological supremacy of the Shades Beyond brooked not even a hint of resistance.  For the Foul Ones had mastered a form of travel so transcendental, so perfected, that as soon as communiques were intercepted, the No-Ships descended like a plague within a heartbeat.  What horrifying tyranny!        And that is just the foul tech.  The wielders were Bane.  Soulless Blanks that numbered in quadrillions, if not quintillions.  Their very aura was desaturation.  The land sapped of life and vigor under the monochrome miasma.  It was inconceivable!  To think that Blanks were not just capable of reproduction, but had disseminated so wide that they were -- in all its abomination -- the majority gene pool of humanity.  It was chronicled these two reasons how the True Empress was overthrown.  These Blanks -- Sionans as they call themselves -- simply saturated after the Call in the galaxy like tumors within blood, splitting space like it was casual affair.  How we hate them their ways!        The Echo Emperor had within a day the entire galactic hub under tachyon lance and suspensor nuke and the Terrible Spice-Which-Kills.  All of True Humanity hostage within a single Terran cycle.  The True Empress -- blessed be Her Mercy -- abdicated due to the threat of total genocide the Mad One clearly made good on.  May he die in suffering!        The Lord Marshal convened a meet of all the historians in his foul city on a backwater Death World, a true home fitting these abominations against Truth.  All of it, a farce.  A lie.  For what could such a heretic know about Truth?  A lying tyrant!  We have each of us laspistols ready to kill him.  The 'sionans' call them Ixian make.  Tech heresy!  All of it!        All of it!       ~Within the audience chamber~ ~A grotesque thing only a tyrant would use~ ~Lined with those foul creatures using Our Form~     The audience chamber of Onn was a gargantuan construct at least 500 meters in diameter, filled by a single pedestal, atop which a single throne, so mockingly small compared to the Golden Throne.  Sitting on the 'lion throne' was him.  The White-Haired Demon.  A mutant that somehow tricked these foul Blanks it was human.  Its baleful yellow serpentine eyes glowed in the oppressive darkness of the audience hall, where the only light came from those curious orbs called suspensors.  Flying about like machine-balloons, errant and free.  Lining the outer perimeter of the audience hall were the Necromonger Sionans.  Foul Blanks that had a mutation of the impossible -- genetic inheritability of the Pariah Gene.  Their armor was sable and dour just as their expressions.  A mockery of the life We Humans show.         A delegation of historians were gathered, the very best of the Administratum, summoned to present their defense of Truth.  As if we would lie about our past!  There were just gaps, is all.  Destroyed in the Dark Ages.  The voice of the Emperor called out to them, all around, above and between.  Fear plucked at their hearts, before realizing the suspensors doubled as speakers.  The entire hall filled in his voice.        "Approach.  I am curious to see your excuses."        One of the scholars had quite enough of this.  A red haired man, robed in officiate linens, stepped forth from the delegation.  "Excuses!  You are a frakking charlatan!"  Others bid him to stop, before they could able array around the Emperor and assassinate him.        The suspensor horde echoed his reply.  "Leto was the type to not reveal what he knew of things.  He did not want to horrify people of his depth.  I, however, smell the esters of your oils.  Each of you has a laspistol for me.  Some of you are sweating so profusely I can sniff you even from here.  You and you, I can see the outline of the pistol."  A haunting laugh permeated among the delegation.  "Keep walking.  I allow this because I am amused you think I can't kill you all with my own hands.  It would horrify you to know how deep my ganglia go.  So slow you all are . . . "  The Emperor slouched and put a hand upon his chin in mockery.  They had not even gone 50 yards from the outer perimeter.  How could he see so far yet clear?  Had to be cameras in these damned suspensors.        The drawl continued as they approached through the obscene hall.  "You are to stop exactly 6 paces from my royal throne.  I will allow a ring if you like.  Arrange yourselves in a way that comforts you the idea of killing me with those toy pistols."  Nervousness was spreading among the delegation.  "I hope for your sake you did not spend the months just planning to kill me and be done with it.  I have gathered all of your genelines here.  Disappoint me, and I assure you, the Universe forevermore will hold no trace of your conniving blood."  Visible anger was seen on around half of the delegation by this point.        Arrayed around in an arc to prevent crossfire, the delegation stood readied.  Their voices were held back by the insane threats of genocide.  The Emperor leaned forward.  "Disgusting.  Many of you are not just aberrant in expected disasporic mutations, you are twisted by the festering chaos you claim to be ready over.  Expected.  The Spice opened your tiny minds to it, and now you can't close the bottle."        What was he talking about?  Many were shuffling.  Despite the bravado they had when first entering; now that they were alone in the center of the 500 meter hall, they felt the stings of isolation against him.  By design, obviously.  The red haired one stepped forward again.  "You gallivant too long.  What do you want, tyrant filth?"        "I did not give you permission to step forward.  Nor backward.  I will extend a courtesy from our cultural differences.  Once."  He sat upon the Lion Throne, making sure they understood.  "I want to hear your stories, first.  How far back do the records go?"        Many glances were shared on whether or not to put up with a farce.  Eventually, one produced a scroll.  "Official records go back with confidence only to the 15th millennium.  Even then, splotches are present due to how - "        "Enough.  I want to hear about your speculations.  How far back do you debate our history?"        Shuffling.  "Our history?!  You - "        The Emperor held a palm up.  "Kill his entire geneline."  Turning his head to look at the historian that spoke out of turn, he spoke again, "You carry in your loins the last traces of your history.  Tainted and impure as they are.  Draw your laspistol and fire if you want to brave your chances."  The man paled, looking torn like a rabbit surrounded by Sionan wolves.  "Oh no no.  Don't worry about the guard.  They exist only to remind you that the Empire exists without me.  They will not interfere on this day, this transmission.  Why not be a hero?  Everyone in your whole galaxy can see you, you know.  I will allow all of you to attack first.  Isn't that the essence of free will?"  The Emperor looked them all in the face.  "Thank me."        W-what?  Many looked confused at how insanely sporadic the lunatic was.        "I said, thank me.  For keeping your useless genes alive in my Universe.  I am torn between my beliefs and my oath to the Lord Leto- "  All the Sionans chanted in unison 'The Lord Leto,'  " -to keep his Golden Path secure.  If I had my way, I would wipe the galaxy free of you all.  You are nothing but Spice-addicts and whores, given to excess.  Your souls are beckons to chaos, your thoughts are impure.  It would be a gentle death as my tachyon cannons destroy you all, with but a snap of my finger, and chaos would be gone the very next instant.  Maybe the whore would remain.  Another time."        He was insane.  Chaos?  What the frak is he talking about?          "You don't even know?  Oh, by the Rings.  This is why I summoned you all.  Fucking ignorant to the last.  You don't even feel it, do you?  I arranged my Sionans like spokes on a spiderweb in this foul dead land, so that their purity cleanses the influence.  Do you find you have less nightmares?  Less fits of hysteria?  I pattern them in such a way as to suffocate the terrors that plague your minds and souls, and you don't even have the fucking courtesy to thank me?"  He raised his palm in the same way as before, when some of the historians fell to their knees.        "I thank you, oh dark one!  Please, spare my family!  They are all I have."        "Better.  Now, tell me again how far back you debate."        Another, visibly drenched in sweat, spoke.  "W-we debate the early millennia.  Mostly the First, Second, and Third.  Highly speculative - "        "Enough.  I was born near the end of the Second millennia.  We will start from there."        The records show that the threats were, in the end, empty.  No one was killed.         Why did the Emperor lie?       ~After the first day recess of the council~ ~Mortifying and terrified~ ~The historians and families~ ~Within the palm of the Lion's Echo~     The first day had gone about as well as one could think.  The tachyon cannons aimed at all the planets of the entire Imperium were stayed, just one more day.  Many of the original delegation had skipped the second meet out of irrational fear.  Many claimed that simply being in the presence of the Emperor of the Soulless was a madness unto its own.  Omega minus, easily.  Kill it!  Kill the abomination!        So, they were swapped out with others.  Arrakis was full of nothing but the genelines of the historians, camped in warrens like some primitive world.  Buildings of dirt?  What disrespect.        Many new faces joined old ones as the new delegation strode the long, empty hall to the Lion Throne.  The Emperor did not speak.  He did not need to; the entire galaxy heard his words.  Tachyon relays transmitted data in ways that made the Mechanicus weep oil.  Oh, why did the glory of old have to be in the hands of the tyrant?!        The delegation was halfway across the hall when the Emperor spoke again.  "You don't understand why I do what I do.  You fail to see the recursive curse upon your minds.  To even comprehend what I fight strengthens it.  This is why I act to crush you in totality.  You must be distracted like babes with jingling metal, for something so simple weakens chaos.  Bends it toward me.  It goes both ways, you know.  I bet Tzeentch is jealous.  Not even your dear Evelyn could piss the Four off like I do.  Hate me.  Revile me.  This is the bare minimum for your survival, dregs."        The finest council in the galaxy still debated what the frak he was spouting.  It made no sense.  Stranger, the True Empress had stowed herself away, along the Sigilite and the Daughters.  Are we forsaken?        "Unknown-unknown as thinkers of my time would have called it.  I will explain nothing to you.  That is the price of your ignorance.  Wallow in the shame."        The prior delegates had used to this, angered but stoic.  The new ones visibly flushed in rage, only contained by the threats.  By now, the delegation had encircled the Emperor once more, but, he did not acknowledge such.  He continued his tirade.  "Do you understand the fallacy of meritocracy?  The pitfall of such a structure?  To foist upon others your laziness and apathy, and then to decry them as being tyrants and monsters?  You lack the will to do what you must, and excuse such wasting with tiresome lines like 'Work is best left to professionals' and such.  Chains, the lot of you.  I am the predator of chaos.  I am the naturalborn hunter of all your nightmares.  I waited with the explicit promise to Lord Leto-"  *echoes in the background*  "-that I would not wake by my own accord.  It was your Evelyn that pulled me from slumber - "        "Lies!"  A historian female stood defiant.  "How dare you blame Her Highness!"        "You are new.  I shall extend the one grace.  Silence, before I expunge your genes from my Universe."  The Emperor shifted on the Lion Throne, slamming a spear of eald make upon the ornamented floor.  "You will have prepared the articles of debate for today.  We left off about the happenings of the Second Millennia.  Begin with what you know."        Her Highness had opened the archives months ago in response to the demand of the Emperor.  It would have been a golden era had the shadow not been.  Despite this, one unfurled a scroll, beginning the new defense.  "It is majority consensus that humanity first left Holy Terra in the Second Millennia.  We have sporadic events within - "  The way the historian enunciated 'Holy Terra' made clear what he thought of Arrakis.        "Unnecessary.  I would rather not relive the minutiae.  This is vague, but good enough.  Continue."        "The Third Millennia had humanity takes its first steps into the Home System.  Archaeology supports colonies throughout the system."        "Yes.  We did such."  The Emperor leaned back into the Lion Throne, gazing high to the ceiling of the hall some 200 meters high.  "Times were simple then.  Next."        This was the moment none wanted to admit.  Beyond wild speculation, barely anything remained for over a 10,000 year gap.  The historian snapped the scroll closed.  "We have no further records of major import until the 15th millennia."        "And you think an appropriate response to Us-Perpetual is to decry we liars?  Revolting filth you are.  Continue with what you know."  The Emperor had adopted a bored posture, as if he was in some schola.        Another unfurled a scroll, hands perspiring.  "The 15th millennia is when expansion began to accelerate.  The earliest traces of Navigators and Standard Template Construct technologies are here.  Men of Gold - "        The spear was slammed again so hard the chest cavities of those present shook.  "Wrong.  Expansion had begun far before that.  We had conventional travel first, then void travel not long after, Solar Rails.  The Zariman Project showed why using the Void was a fool's errand.  Hm.  When did we first discover the Spice?  Around 7000, I want to say?  That would have been the 8th millennium . . . "        Sputters and sputters.  "This is lunacy!  Lies!  To the last!"        "Don't get me started on this drivel.  'Men of Gold.'  What is this, fucking grade school?  They were called Orokin, you savages.  The evolution of Arasaka.  Was it Executor Sabr that started it?  Perhaps it is good we forgot them.  No matter.  Navigators.  Again.  Navigators now are almost identical to the function they had in the times of Spice Travel.  They existed far before the 15th millennia."        "You are insane!  Nothing you say is grounded in reality!"        The Emperor roared back.  "You, are not grounded in reality!  You are a chaos-tainted offshoot of our blood!  Do not think I failed to notice the lack of Sionans on your worlds!  You call me a monster?  Where are my people now?  Where are the records of Leto, the Lost Journals, the Ridulian Crystals, the Oral Histories?  I have an inkling of what happened, and you shall thank me that I do not act on my rage toward you backwater filth.  Continue with your 'records.'"        The historians continued.  "This was around the first instances of the Men of Iron- " The remembrancers show that by this point the Emperor had tuned out.  " -and psykery began to promulgate in the galaxy.  It was during the Golden Age that the foul Abominable Intelligences - "        "Enough of this.  Enough.  Get out.  I have run out of patience of you.  I will warden and purge chaos from your land, and I will let Evelyn have what remains.  Be glad of this.  Have fun with your galactic staleness."        Many of the historians were shocked by the turns of events, and began to act in confusion.  With a hand signal, the Emperor beckoned the Necromongers forward to clear the audience hall.  Misunderstanding, many of the historians began to draw their laspistols and line down the Horde -- try to, at least.        For that was another thing the Home Galaxy lost.  The Matre-ganglia that offered greater speed and reflexes, to the point of 'superhuman' speed.  Many of the Sionans could guess in ample time about where the lasers would go, and leap aside and forward to gather up the children.  It was elementary for the eons of gifts Leto bestowed upon them.        The Emperor sighed as he watched the fools be taken back to their own planet sanctuaries.  They didn't even offer to help with the wars, just sitting back and bickering about how evil he was, while he did Leto's work.  They were so addled they didn't even realize not one family member was killed, until far after the fact.  Perhaps it was the mental strain of being in the presence of a Blank?        The Emperor stood, turning off the tachyon relays transmitting across the Universe.  Now the entire diaspora would know how backwards and fucked the Home Galaxy was.  What a shithole.        It was all by the design of Leto's Golden Path.  Ideally, humanity would never even know what chaos was until it was gone.  All they would know was hatred toward the Lion Imperium; and that was in the end, good.  Because this meant humanity would have no room to worship the Four.  He laughed, staring at the blot in his vision.  That Eye looked back with utter contempt, a raw manifestation of hatred chaos had for him.  Usurpation doesn't feel so good, does it?  Don't worry.  Once I'm done with Commorragh, I'll scour that patch there, too.        You tell me you are beyond death.  You say you are inevitable, that the galaxy will kneel to you.  Leto saw this so long ago it makes me laugh at you.  He bred the Sionans just as a special fuck you.  People incorruptible to your 'gifts,' your powers of temptation.  He gave them physicality instead.  It's almost embarrassing how weak the Originals are.  Come, then.  Send your best shards to me.  I shall devour them all.  I will reduce you to motes and take you away in shame.  The entire Universe will see this, and your powers of self-aggrandizing fulfillment will end.  No one will think of chaos as 'mighty' when I am done.  Cower, whore.  Rage, fool.  Fester, rot.  And cry, liar.  The jaws of Terra are here.