Qa'an Majoris

Qa’an Majoris was ready to embrace the Imperium, returning from the Long Night into the light of the Imperial Truth. And he had made it happen. Speaker Helel, of the First Aether Company, watched as the delegates from the myriad factions and nations filed into the chamber. As the highest ranking Imperial official present, he had to set an example. Instead of his traditional attire of Tartaros Pattern Tactical Dreadnought Armour, he wore simple robes of white cloth. Beyond the slight gilding at the trim, he could have been mistaken for an ascetic. That, and the fact that he stood a full head and a half taller than even the tallest bodyguard present. Each delegate had been chosen for their influence across the world, as well as their control of the disparate nations. It was fascinating to see how even a single world of man could produce such varieties. ‘It was through this symphony of difference that we will triumph’, he thought proudly.

Despite his legion’s unsavoury reputation, Helel was not fond of violence. He would try and exhaust every possible line of peaceful reunion before making war against the lost elements of humanity. After all, did they not all share the manifest destiny to inherit the stars? As the last delegates entered, he looked around the chamber. Light and airy, the space could fit over 300 men with ease. It was made to seem all the more massive as it only contained a mere 48, with each representative allowed to bring 2 bodyguards to ensure their safety. The delegates were unarmed. Many seemed tense, holding an aura of dignity and power around themselves. He could it was a simple ruse, an effort to defend wounded pride and take concessions for their joining with the nascent Imperium. They knew they stood no chance of victory against a spacefaring empire like their newfound brethren. A few words and token gestures would placate them, soothing both their hurt pride and allay their fears. A smaller group, those of the smaller nations, were joyful and smiling. They had much to gain from the reunion, gaining equality with their more powerful neighbours. One was more difficult to read. Of everyone in the chamber, he alone seemed relaxed. He was an unremarkable individual, of unexceptional height and dressed formally but anonymously. ‘This is one to watch for’, Helel thought privately.

Within minutes, all were seated around a great wooden table. It was a symbol for the future of Qa’an. Unity and equality for all within the Imperium. Helel rose to his feet, a sweeping gesture of his arm cutting through the hubbub like a scythe through wheat.

“Gentlemen. I bid you all welcome to this historic moment. For myself, this is the cause of our Great Crusade through the stars. To reunite our lost family and reclaim our birth right of old. To become the true masters of the universe once more. I know many of you have your doubts.”

A ripple of assent passed through the gathered representatives, indistinct from the acoustics. Helel smiled knowingly. “But you have all agreed to meet here, so we can discuss terms and other conditions to appease everyone.”

More noises, this time of a positive manner. Clearly the thought of material gain would be a more effective tool than the propaganda of the Imperial Truth.

“I have a question for you, Imperial” the anonymous man said. “We have heard your promises of wealth and safety. You appeal to the physical. What can you do for the spiritual?”

Helel shifted, he sensed he was now in dangerous territory. “We have grown past the superstitions of the past, sir. Instead, we look to the future of the species, our place in the galaxy and how to maintain it. The strength of knowledge can be spread and shared, the spiritual is fantastical and constrains free thought. I can show you what the Imperial Truth has to offer.”

The man smiled, though his eyes glittered dangerously. “Truth, Imperial? There is only one truth in the world. The truth is that the world is divided into the blessed and the heretic. If you are blessed, you may take what you deserve. The gods watch over us and ensure we will destroy the heretic. And you do not seem to be one of the blessed, Imperial.”

The representatives began shifting uncomfortably, Helel could see he was losing many of them. He had to act quickly. “Tell me sir, who divines who is blessed and who is a heretic? The gods themselves? Or, perhaps, their chosen few?” At this, the man stood abruptly.

“Do you consider yourself wise, Imperial? Only a fool would doubt a voice of the divine. You are a heretic, you and all who come with you. I can see now that there is no soul in your Imperium. You desecrator, you come to seduce us with your pretty words. But you will not have us. Even if the whole of your empire stands against us, the gods will ensure our victory. And we will cast you down, leaving naught but ashes!” The smile was gone now, replaced with a snarl. The man brought himself to his impressive height. Impressive, for a human.

Helel stood too, dwarfing his opponent. “The truth is this, oh chosen one. You will embrace the Imperial Truth. You and your world will reap the rewards of a thousand years of progress, safety unlike any seen since the Dark Age of Technology. And you will join our destiny as rulers of the galaxy. Or you will oppose us, here and now. You will die. Your world will burn. Your fanes and temples will be cast down, your gods nothing but whispers on the wind. And no one will remember you. Save us, your conquerors. Now. What is the choice of those present?”

The gathered diplomats seemed shocked at the openness of the threat. They had not realised the graveness of the threat, the potential for devastation the Imperium could offer if they decided to make them their enemy. But the belligerent man was not cowed in the slightest. In fact, the threat of violence seemed to rile him more than anything said previously. “You are a monster, a vile and base creature. You are not fit to step foot upon this world, you are not fit to lead mankind. Your heresy will end here!” At the last, his voice became shrill and piercing. The air was rent with the sound of it, the cry going on and on. Men fell down, their hands clasped to their ears. Great cracks appeared across the table, the wood split into fragments by the sonic pressure. Helel felt the sudden appearance of blood on his top lip, smelt the oh so familiar tang of ozone in the air. A psyker.

The Light Bringer to his left raised his bolter, firing deadly explosive shells at the psyker. The shells flew at speeds beyond the human eye, ready to cause horrendous damage to their fleshy target. They never met it. Stopping mere inches away from the diplomat, each shell abruptly turned and accelerated away from the psyker in all directions. New screams filled the air, of pain and fear. A bolt round does terrible things to even armoured targets. The gathered representatives wore simple cloth. Hideous injuries could be seen all round, limbs lost, innards pulverised. Bodyguards began to open fire with the own, more primitive weaponry. It was entirely chaotic, with no focus of fire or choosing of targets. The psyker gestured towards the Imperials and a wave of force sent fragments of the heavy wooden table at them like shrapnel. Typically, nothing short of sustained fire could pierce MkII power armour. And yet the Astarte who opened fire was perforated dozens of times, sent flying back into one of the many pillars around the room’s perimeter. Helel shouted out in fury, drawing his own bolt pistol. He was not a blank, despite his legion’s reputation for possessing so many of them. His other bodyguard was. The two pushed across the room, firing not at the psyker, but at his companions. Each were put down efficiently, even under fire, the Astartes showing their skill. More shards of wood, stone and bone were sent flying towards them. Helel dodged to one side, his companion to the other. He was lucky. His bodyguard less so. A piece of rock the size of a fist had embedded itself into his temple. Untouchable or not, an object in motion stayed in motion.

Helel could feel the black pit of rage building in his gut. This was what he despised beyond everything. Not xenos, no. They were merely slaves to their nature. But here, someone was defying everything that mankind stood for, everything they could be. And why? For a deluded belief in ancient spirits, voices on the wind, echoes in the aether. He bellowed his challenge, firing bolt rounds at his foe and charged. The man had began floating, his power whipping up a mighty wind centred around him. The scream raised in pitch, drowning out the pain of those who had been wounded. The rounds all missed, pulled away by the torrent of psykic energies circling the zealot. If guns failed, he would resort to his chosen skill. He took hold of his trusty service knife, the weapon that had never failed him. Dozens of shards flew at him, each imbued with psykic energy. He dodged, weaved and parried each and every one, leaving him miraculously untouched. He was within touching distance of the hurricane, and the man within. Inside the cocoon of energy, the zealot was insensate, the power he had harnessed completely destroying his mind. With a single stroke, Helel ended the threat. And like that, it was over. Debris littered the room, from the two score bodies to the fragments of the furnishings. He looked about, checking to see the condition of those who had come in peace in the hopes of building towards a new future with the Imperium. He could see many were gravely wounded, mere minutes away from passing. He sighed deeply, it was a black day for mankind. And yet. It would not be the last hope for this world. They would start again, regain the trust of the locals. And to start, he would sit with those wounded and hear their final words, bear witness to their last moments. Would his primarch do such a thing? No. But he was not his primarch, and never would be. And for that at least, he could be grateful.