Chapter Text
Isha loathed Mars the moment she laid eyes on it.
The Aetos Dios descended through toxic clouds of pollution that choked the atmosphere, so thick that mortal eyes could not see through them.
The surface was no better, with hardly any trace of life. As the Emperor’s vessel flew downwards, burning with golden light, Isha extended her senses, and all she could see was endless stretches of factories with sky-high iron towers releasing smoke into the air, and rad-scorched wastelands that had not yet begun to recover from the wars that had destroyed them.
But that wasn’t it. Isha had seen broken worlds like this many times prior. Terra and Cthonia had hardly been in any better a state before she had begun her work.
And in the aftermath of the War in Heaven, she had seen far, far worse. She and her family had knitted broken worlds back together, mended shattered stars and healed wounds in the fabric of reality, dispelling warp storms that threatened to consume entire constellations.
No, the state of the environment of Mars was regrettable, but ultimately, it was something to be healed, not to be despised.
What was truly repulsive was the way the planet stank of suffering. Isha could feel the souls of a million million people trapped in bondage and suffering. Menials and thralls were made into servitors and even if not, still condemned to a life of horrific, grinding slavery.
Countless innocent souls had died here, toiling away in those factories, torn apart to sate the curiosity of their masters, fed to cruel machines on a mere whim. And over a thousand years, the echoes of their misery and death, of their despair and unanswered prayers for salvation, had sunk into the very bedrock of this planet, as much a part of Mars as the rust-red sands.
It was nothing Isha had not seen before. She had seen it during the War, in the lab-worlds of the Old Ones where they built and refined their weapons. On the so-called farms of the C’tan where they had bred ‘livestock’: primitive races to sate their endless hunger for souls.
From her children, as their cruelty and arrogance consumed them, as they forgot their duty as guardians and became the very monsters that they had once shielded the galaxy from.
It still sickened her to the core.
The Queen of the Fey strained against her bonds, howling for vengeance . She screamed for a new Wild Hunt, to carve a bloody path across this world, to free the slaves of their torment and to let them enact revenge upon their twisted tormentors. To let nature reclaim this world from the machinations of mortal men, and to hang the skulls of the slavers from the trees as a reminder to those who would dare to commit such atrocities.
The Healer pushed her down despite her anger and fury, casting a glance at the golden-armoured Emperor, his arms clasped behind his back and eyes closed as he waited for them to arrive. She could feel him trying to divine the future, trying to see a way forward despite the many obstacles to his vision.
Not yet. Isha told herself. Not yet.
Returning her attention to the planet below, Isha’s sight drifted to a dark region of the world, devoid of life, untamed even by the Mechanicum.
Mankind called it the Noctis Labyrinth .
It was an appropriate name. Even to Isha’s divine gaze, the region was cold and dark, foreboding to all those who dared enter.
And deep within, she could see the silver god-shard, bound in chains of golden light. It was asleep…but what was sleep to a god? It stirred as her gaze focused on it, but the chains held it tight, constraining the endless hunger and malice contained within.
It was only a shadow of what it had been, but even a shadow could be dangerous. Isha remembered all too well the horrors that the thing imprisoned on Mars had unleashed when it had sought to breach the timelock containing the War in Heaven, of the nightmares that had flooded into both reality and unreality as time bent and threatened to break.
If only there was a way to destroy it . But through The War, they had never found a way, and how the Necrons had done it remained a mystery.
Pure physical force was not enough, that much Isha knew. Or even the raw might of the Immaterium. Her father had tried, both during the First War and then on the very creature imprisoned below Mars, when they had defeated it to prevent it from rewriting history. And as much as she despised him, Isha would be the first to concede that there were precious few beings in the galaxy capable of matching Khaine’s might at his peak.
But the Yngir were part of the very fabric of reality, and their essence was not so easily torn. The vessels that the Necrontyr had built for them could be broken, yes. Isha had done it herself. But in the end, those were merely vessels. The Yngir needed them, yes, but damaging vessels was still not enough to rend their essence.
Even Vaul had never found a way to replicate the god-breaking weapons of the Necrontyr, and in the end, had settled for simply imprisoning the Dragon’s shard here on Mars.
The Emperor’s presence nudged her own gently but pointedly, a reminder to not accidentally awaken the monster from its slumber.
Isha relented, turning her gaze away from the Labyrinth of Night, feeling the Dragon subside as she did so, though its sleep remained uneasy. Even if she was not looking directly at it, it could undoubtedly feel the presence of herself and the Emperor.
But the Dragon was not why they were here.
That would be the great mountain city they were descending towards.
Olympus Mons , the Emperor had told her it was called. It was the name of the home of the gods from one of mankind’s now long-forgotten religions, but the name endured.
It was, admittedly, impressive. The entire mountain had become the beating heart of Mars, an industrial centre capable of fueling interstellar empires, and an archive containing some of the most dangerous knowledge within Sol. Tens of millions of souls resided in the tunnels and the structures carved into the flesh of the mountain, the sparks that were their souls glowing like embers within the great forge that was their home.
It reminded her of Vaul’s Temple Worlds. In some ways, of how they had been and how her brother had intended them, great places of learning, a place to share knowledge and build better futures.
But mostly in what they had become during the Age of the Dominion, engines of misery and suffering, where knowledge was hoarded, where all caution and compassion were discarded in the name of so-called “progress”.
Sometimes, it truly felt as if the universe was making some kind of cosmic joke at her expense with all the parallels between mankind and her children. It was a self-centered thing to think, Isha was not egotistical enough to truly believe it, but it was hard to ignore the feeling.
“Remember the plan,” The Emperor told her, opening his eyes and stepping forward to stand next to her.
Isha sighed. “Yes, yes, I know. Maintain my disguise as a human subordinate of yours and keep an eye out for any Chaos corruption. You do not need to repeat it.”
George raised his hands. “I do not mean to irritate you. It is just…I am aware of your disdain for the Mechanicum, but they are truly critical to my plans.”
Isha’s lip curled, but she didn’t bother to argue the point. It wouldn’t serve any purpose.
“I have made common cause with beings whom I despise before,” She said instead. “The Mechanicum is worthy of contempt, but I assure you, there are those in this galaxy whom I loathe far more. Maintaining a mask of civility is no great task.”
George nodded, and for a moment, Isha felt his attention divert to distant Iyanden, lurking just beyond the Solar System.
More specifically, to the shard of Khaine within.
Well. She had been the one to bring up how she had worked with those she hated before, and her dear father was the most famous example of that. All the same, she was in no mood to talk about him.
“Be honest with me,” She said, bringing George’s attention back to her. “Do you truly believe that you can persuade the Mechanicum to a peaceful resolution?”
George winced, shifting slightly at the question. “Why do you ask?”
Isha suppressed a roll of her eyes at his avoidance of the question. “Even putting aside Vashtorr’s influence, the fact remains that they were already committed to dethroning you. That fleet may have launched an assault against orders, but it was sent by the Fabricator-General. Not to mention that the Mechanicum believes you hold a sacred relic they feel entitled to, a suspicion you decided to tell them was true. They do not seem particularly open to peace.”
She didn’t mention the emotions that she could sense churning in the souls below, but she didn’t need to. The Emperor could feel them as well.
There was awe, curiosity, and uneasiness at the sight of the golden vessel, but there was also anger, arrogance and above all, greed .
Not emotions that were particularly conducive to peaceful submission.
George rubbed his jaw, his face twisting in a frown. “I know it seems unlikely, but I must try to find a way to bring the Mechanicum to heel without bloodshed. Or at least, no conflict that would risk damage to their infrastructure.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” Isha asked archly. “Crush them into line with divine charisma? Rewrite the minds of all their leaders to make them obedient to you?”
The Emperor of Mankind’s eyes burned golden with the light of his conviction.
“If I must.”
Isha dipped her head in acknowledgement. She had expected nothing less.
The Aetos Dios completed the last stretch of its descent, burning like a falling star every step of the way, wrapped in the Emperor’s aura as it was.
As angry as she still was with the Emperor, Isha had to appreciate his flair for the dramatic. While his overall sense of aesthetics was a little too gaudy for her tastes, what was the point of being a god if you couldn’t strike fear and awe into the hearts of the people?
“Come,” The Emperor said, striding away.
Isha did not follow immediately, instead taking a moment to adjust her form. Her height shrank by several feet, from equal to a Custodes to merely a slightly taller than average human woman. Her hair shortened to shoulder length, losing its lustrous shine until it no longer glittered like rubies and after a moment’s consideration, she shifted the shade of her hair to a more human auburn.
Rounding her ears took only a moment, and then adjusting her eyes so that they no longer glowed emerald and her sclera turned white. Tiny flaws spread across her face and flesh until the supernatural beauty of the Eldar was gone entirely, replaced by a plain and unremarkable-looking human woman.
As one last touch, she clothed herself in the garb that the genewrights of the Emperor’s Biotechnical Division usually wore, a white coat over a light blue uniform.
There, that should do it. An appropriate human disguise.
Isha followed in the direction the Emperor had gone, arriving in the hangar, where he was standing with a guard of Custodes and a handful of other human advisors he had brought along.
He quirked an eyebrow at her disguise, but did not comment. “It is time.”
Isha took her place in his entourage, blending in. It had been a long time since she had needed to use such subterfuge, but it was not particularly difficult to remember. A god’s skills did not decay the way a mortal’s did.
The ship landed on the ground with one final shudder, and then after a long moment, the hangar door lowered itself.
And so, they walked down the ramp and set foot at last on the world of rust and iron that was Mars.