Chapter 35: Avoiding Stupid Deaths with a TTS Device

Warning: Non-canon as fuck!

I didn't feel the bombs going off. An insurance policy to ensure that the atomic weapons worked was that a particularly dense cluster of them had been placed under the city I was "defending", to ensure that the Chaos Lord was killed. A properly built atomic, with appeased machine spirits and the loving care of the Mechanicus, could kill someone so fast that their brain didn't even register what had happened before they died. And twenty of them went off under my feet. So I was thankfully given a quick and painless death.

What came after was a lot less fun. I had no idea where I was, I couldn't even feel my body properly, but I could feel the Warp all around me. I had fought on planets where the taint of the Archenemy hung in the air around me, pressing into me like an ocean wave trying to drown me. This was a hundred times worse. The ocean wave was alive, malicious, heavier than anything he could imagine. But that was enough compared to the maelstrom of voices. Beyond counting, they were all screaming in agony.

"So. This is Hell," I said bitterly. It was getting hard to concentrate. My thoughts were becoming looser and looser, and my thinking sluggish. Why was I here again? What had I done to get here? It was something important, I knew that, I just couldn't put my finger on it. Wait...had it been important? I could've sworn it had been. If it was so important, why couldn't I remember it? I would rest for a bit. Then it would come back to me. Yes.

But at that very moment, just when consciousness nearly left me, a blinding golden light tore over me. Everything came rushing back. The 23rd EDR, my family, the Chaos Lord, my last stand. The thought that that had almost all slipped away from me terrified me. Whatever this light was, however, had pushed it away. I could still feel the presence of the Warp, but it was distant now, not on top of me. I tried to make out the origin of the light, but it blinded me. I screwed up my eyes, trying to think of what to do. But then, slowly, I felt myself being lifted up by an unseen force. I thrashed about, paranoid thoughts about where I was going filling my head.

The next thing I knew, it was all over. The light was gone, the feeling of Chaos was gone. I could feel solid ground underneath my feet, feel warm air around me, and could see a more natural light. I blinked. Wherever I was, it was clearly Imperial, the telltale signs of a towering golden spire with skulls embedded on the wall. But I had no idea how I had gotten here, or where here was even supposed to be.

"Well father, here he is. I think my head is going to split open, reaching that far across the galaxy, but his soul is intact. Can't say the same for the rest of his body," a voice said. It was hard to describe, it had an odd accent to it, but I would say it had a scholarly bent to it.

"Good. He should be good company until my caretaker gets back from that fucking stupid errand you sent him on," a dull mechanical voice said.

"Wait, soul?" I said before I could stop myself. "What do you mean by-" I turned to look at the origin point of the voices. My jaw dropped. Before me was a massive throne made out of gold, wires marked with arcane symbols sticking out of nearly every corner of it. Deep ornate carvings had been made all over the throne in HIgh Gothic, many of them faded away with age. But on the throne itself was a skeleton the size of a Space Marine, with tubes, cybernetics, and all other forms of mechanical support plugged into it, including a cybernetic optic over one eye. No...no! Of all the places in the galaxy, there was no way I could've...could I? "M...my Emperor?" I said uncertainly.

"Yes, my child, I am the Emperor of Mankind," the mechanical voice said, coming directly from the skeleton.

I instantly threw myself to the ground. I was a snarky, uppity asshole when it came to the upper brass of the Imperium, but never in front of them. The more uplifted members of humanity, like Space Marines and their Chapter Masters, I only felt safe talking shit when they were off planet. But the Emperor myself. I'm fairly certain I'd throw myself into the Eye of Terror before considering even THINKING ill towards him. "My God-Emperor, it's an honor that I can't even begin to put into words," I spluttered, my mind racing and my mouth desperately trying to keep up. "It's my solemn vow to-"

But the Emperor spoke and I instantly shut my mouth. "For fuck's sake. Magnus, I thought I told you to make sure that rickety-ass spam filters didn't keep my glorious message from getting through."

"First of all, I'm fairly certain that was your caretaker-"

"No."

"...And second of all, your Imperium has become bloated to the point where the Administratum literally losses planets. This one has been on the very brink of Imperial space in the middle of an active war zone. It's quite possible the message didn't make it there."

I blinked in confusion. "Message? What message?" Curiosity somehow managing to overpower my awe, I glanced in the direction of the voice. The bottom of my stomach vanishes and pure horror spread over me. A massive, towering figure stood at the base of the Golden Throne. Twelve feet tall at the very minimum, clad in jewel-encrusted golden armor, a sapphire fashioned in the shape of an eye at his torso, horns protruding from his chest, shoulders, and head, blue and red wings folded behind him. That alone was enough to drive me to panic, but what cemented it was the blood red skin and a single eye. Magnus the Red.

"TRAITOR!" I roared. My mind was a flurried frenzy. Any other time my first instinct would've been to run and never look back, Magnus the Red was well above the Chaos Lord, but I couldn't. He was here, in the holiest of places, in the very same room as the Emperor. It didn't many how impossible the odds were, I would gladly sacrifice myself if it meant protecting Him as Ollanius Pius had done so long ago. I went for my plasma pistol only for my hand to grasp on nothing. I looked down. My jaw went slack. Instead of a worn, old body covered in carapace armor, I was looking at a body that was made up of what appeared to be golden light. I held up my hands. They too were no longer flesh and bone, but some sort of glowing energy.

"Honestly, I prefer traitor over heretic," Magnus said dryly. "At least being angry at someone for treason is understandable. As opposed to heretic. 'Oh, you don't worship the same deity as me in the exact same way that I do, die die die." Letting out a roar, I threw myself at the Traitor Primarch. If I could just buy a little time, five seconds would be enough, maybe the Custodes could arrive in time. They would be able to save the Emperor from his treacherous son.

I was halfway towards the crimson giant when he idly held up a hand. At once, a massive red hand made out of consented Warp energy appeared, snapping shut around me. I thrashed like a madman, a passion I had never known in my life seizing me as insults spewed nonstop from my mouth. "TRAITOR! WARP PUPPET! CHILDFUCKER!" I had to get out! I had to do my duty!

"Oh, that is just-I am not Fulgrim for God's sake. Or Lucius! Father, could you please talk some sense into him before he burns his own soul out?" Magnus said, sounding more annoyed than anything else. That drove my fury to brand new heights. He desecrated this holiest of places and he was bored? But before I could react, a blinding, overwhelming force washed over me.

"BE CALM." My anger was snuffed out in the same way a tsunami quelched a campfire. The words emanating from the Emperor had power, they were power. I went slack in Magnus's construct hand, panting heavily. "Your anger towards Magnus is understandable, my child, but misplaced. He is no longer an enemy of the Imperium, I have brought him back into the Imperial fold. He is an ally that I have redeemed through my charm and natural charisma."

"Sure, let's go with that," Magnus muttered.

"But...but…" I spluttered, feeling my mind compressing under the radical revelation that I was hearing. A Traitor Primarch redeemed. "But my Emperor, he has opposed the Imperium and your word for ten-thousand years. He and his legion have waged war without end, supporting Black Crusades and smaller warbands. I FOUGHT Thousand Sons on Wasteland! His Legion was supporting a Chaos Lord who put the torch to nearly fifty Imperial planets!" There was a pause.

"Gods...damn it Ahriman," Magnus said, sighing heavily. "Father, I've been meaning to ask you. If you're serious about bringing me back into the family, we should probably bring what's left of my Legion back as well. Not that they're really much of a Legion anymore, not after THAT FURRY FUCK was done with them, but we're above what would be considered chapter strength. I think. I hope. I'm going to send a message to them before Ahriman does any more damage."

"Do it outside. I don't want my basement turned into a nightclub for serial necrophiliac pedophiles again. Let me tell you, Sanginus never brought that sort of company home," the Emperor said.

"He never brought anyone home because he was terrified you would find out about his Legion's disturbing blood fixation," Magnus said dryly. I felt like my brain was cracking.

"...I beg your pardon?" the Emperor asked. His voice was a dull monotone, but even I could hear the anger in it.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Magnus asked smugly. "There's a first. Yes, the Blood Angels have a bit of a quirk in their gene-seed, the Red Thirst. Essentially, every last one of them has a deep-seated thirst for blood, figuratively and literally. It takes every last bit of self-control they have to keep from falling into a rage that would make Leman Russ's barely sapient pack look like tame little corgis. Oh, and then there's the Black Rage, but that only came up after Sanginus died." What the fuck was going on with my life? Or was it unlife now?

"I will not tolerate such filthy disgusting lies from the self-proclaimed smartest of all my children," the Emperor replied. "I made no flaws in the gene-seed and there were no flaws in Sanginus. Therefore there could be no issues with the Blood Angels. Now you take your pure, undistilled wrong and choke on it, and I will hear no more slander against your brother."

"Well don't act surprised if Commander Dante gets uncomfortable if you bring it up," Magnus said. "Anyway, our guest?"

"Right. While it is true that the Thousand Sons still fight for Chaos, Magnus does not. I trust him, and therefore you should too. I am the motherfucking Emperor, after all." I had no idea what it felt like to have a battleaxe lodged in your skull, but I imagine it felt similar to the sensation that was pounding into my skull. I had to accept and trust one of the most infamous traitors to the Imperium, but not doing so would mean defying a direct order from the Emperor. What the fuck was even going on anymore?

"I...I…," I stammered. "My Emperor, I do not understand. You are forgiving Magnus for all his transgressions? For everything? All the sins the Traitor Primarchs did to us. The damage they inflicted on the galaxy, on Terra. The Drop Site Massacre!"

"Oh for the love of, I wasn't there!" Magnus shouted.

"My child, I understand your concern, but it is in the past now. Magnus is helping me rebuild the Imperium." Magnus noticeably was not making eye contact with the Emperor as this was said. "I firmly believe that one can be redeemed after being particularly destructive. I have, after all, chosen you for such a purpose." I blinked.

"My Emperor, have you been watching over me this whole time?" I asked. I was overcome with gratitude, if I still had tear ducts I would no doubt be crying right now. "Oh, merciful God-Emperor, thank you so-"

"For fuck's sake, I am not a god. That holy book the Adeptus Ministorum worships so gleefully was written by my historically insecure choir boy of a son Lorgar. I never approved of it. I am not a deeply flawed being known as a god, I am far superior. I am a man. A man who was created when tens of thousands of shamans killed themselves and then collectively possessed the soul of an unborn baby."

I stood there, my spectral jaw hanging loosely. The Emperor wasn't a god? No. No that couldn't be. There was too much evidence pointing to the contrary. "But my Emperor! What about the Living Saints?"

"I think I can explain that one," Magnus interjected, almost sounding pleased at the opportunity. "Father has a particularly strong psychic presence in the Warp, due to the unnatural nature of his birth, as I just recently learned. It's not on the same level as the Chaos gods, but it's enough to be noticeable, it's why the Astronomicon works. Chaos Gods feed off of certain types of emotions that correlate with their nature, violence, and bravery for Khorne for example. This strengthens them while also nurturing and giving birth to demons that are aligned with them. However, Father's presence is so strong in the Warp, and with trillions, possible quintillions of Imperials praying to him, it's possible this could've worked in the other direction. Father's Warp presence, or a fractured part of it, was most likely nourished by all this faith, and in turn, gave birth to the Living Saints. There's no getting around the fact that they certainly break the standard rules."

I gaped at Magnus. The Traitor Primarch, or rather former Traitor Primarch, seemed to have more understanding and respect towards the Living Saints than the Emperor himself? WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON!? "But that sounds like divinity, doesn't it?"

"I'm telling you, I was never a God, I was a beautiful, buff man, with golden luscious locks." The Emperor was getting very annoyed at this point.

"Yes, you weren't. At the time," Magnus said.

There was a pause. "I beg your fucking pardon? Care to say that again Ptolemy?"

"There's a, well, a theory I've been working on for the past few hundred years," Magnus said. "The Eldar created Slannesh, a lone species had enough of an impact on the realm of souls to birth an entirely new deity that was able to stand on par with the already existing pantheon. That is nothing short of a marvelous achievement. Even if it was mainly achieved through unrestrained murderfucking, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, massive numbers have been proven to be able to have a heavy impact on the Warp. And quintillions of worshipers have been treating you as a divine, truly supreme being, for ten-thousand years. I thought there was a possibility that if I ever managed to get back on Holy Terra that you would've been changed. That while you weren't a god, you might have become one. Transformed by the faith of your people." Magnus paused as he spoke, looking lost in his own thoughts.

"How in the balls is that supposed to make any sense?" the Emperor said, his dull voice crackling.

"Well...have you ever heard of the theories on how your followers think you could possibly be resurrected? They get a little desperate at times, but one of them was the theory that you would return to the Imperium if you were permitted to die. That you would revive on the spot, stronger and more powerful than ever. Needless to say, people who think this are not allowed near the Golden Throne, but I actually think that it might have some merit to it."

I wanted to scream. So I did. It was far more hoarse than I had expected it to be. "Is he a god or not!? Please. Can people please give me a straight story on what the ever loving fuck is going on here?"

"It's a bit on the complicated side actually," Magnus said impatiently. "But one thing that's set in stone is that Father was most certainly not a God in the Great Crusade. The proud owner of a god and messiah complex, maybe, but not a god proper. The point I'm trying to make is that he's had quintillions of people who think that he is a god, and with the birth of Living Saints, through what can only be Warp styled influence, things have gotten muddy. He's certainly closer to a god now than he's ever been in the past. Which is ironic for more reasons than one."

"I am deeply disgusted by this talk," the Emperor said. "I am prepared to illegalize the shit out of making comparisons between me and gods unless I am being depicted as superior to them. Do not test me on this Magnus, you know I will do it."

"That would be impossible Father. I would remind you that the passing of new laws is still illegal, as per your order. I am surprised that you forgot." There was a new voice, accompanied by a set of heavy footfalls. Turning to face it, I saw a figure in Imperial Fist Centurion armor, flanked on either side by...a pair of ten-foot-tall strippers wearing what looked like Custodes helmets. Apparently, the Imperial Fist had a very particular kink. I wasn't judging, the strippers were built in a way that flowed more naturally than I had thought the human body possible, combining both power and elegance. Oh yes, I could very much see the appeal.

"Oh fuck no, Rogal, not now. This conversation is uncomfortable enough as it is." Wait. No. It couldn't be. Rogal?

"ROGAL FUCKING DORN IS HERE TOO!?" I screamed before I could stop myself. I was fairly certain that my brain was breaking at this point. What was going on? Where was I? Who was I? Did I do Dark Eldar drugs again?

"Yes. It is I. Rogal Dorn. However, I was unaware that I had a middle name. Father, is this true? Did I have a middle name that was a reference to fornification this whole time?" In any other situation, this would've been the most snarky and sarcastic thing you could have said. But unless I had gone utterly mad, which wasn't entirely out of the question, Rogal Dorn had asked the question with utter sincerity.

"Rogal, I don't need this right now," the Emperor said. "I have more important things to talk about. Like what in the name of Malal's nonexistent ballsack is a Living Saint?" I could've sworn that the Emperor's eyes swiveled to look at me, even though one eye was nothing more than an empty socket and the other was an immobile cybernetic optic. "Actually, fuck it, Magnus got his turn, Rogal went last time, and my caretaker is fucking shit up on Mars still. The new one can go. What are Living Saints?"

Oh. Oh no. He was talking about me. I swallowed, only to find out I couldn't anymore. "Well, my God-Emper...should I not call you that?"

"He prefers Man-Emperor of Mankind now," Magnus said. "Still narcissistic, just in its own way."

"No more narcissistic than "The Red King" or "The Crimson Cyclops" Maggny Magic," the Emperor said. "Though I guess you should just be grateful no one ever got the chance to call you the Crimson Cock." BAZINGA!

"No! NO, NOT AGAIN!" One of the strippers instantly ran behind Rogal, cowering while the other one looked on in disapproval.

I looked dumbly at Magnus. Had anyone spoken about the Emperor that way in the 23rd EDR, they would've been lynched on the spot. I would've fitted the noose. But not only was Magnus doing it with idly abandon, no one was reacting to it beyond a mild annoyance. What was fucking even? "Uh. Ok then. My Man-Emperor." It did not have the same ring to it. I think I might actually prefer being dead. "But, if I may, a few questions. Why has Rogal brought his gigolos in here? It hardly seems appropriate timing."

"What? Oh. How. DARE you! We are Custodian guards! Companions! I am a Shield-Captain! We are not providers of sexual favors for currency! That is beneath our status!" one of them roared, stepping forward. While he was naked aside from a loincloth and some oddly placed pieces of leather, he had what seemed to be finely sharpened pieces of metal were jutting out of his elbows. Under normal circumstances, this would be the point where I would start prostrating and begging for forgiveness, even if the man wasn't who he said he was, he was still towering over me and his muscles alone looked like they were enough to rip me apart on my own. But the surreal nature of everything going on had numbed my sense of danger. I was starting to think I might actually be dead anyway, and this was the Chaos Gods tormenting me.

"Wait. Custodes? You're fucking kidding me, right? You looked like you got kicked out of a pleasure cult because they thought you were a bit too garish!" The Custodian Guard(?) recoiled in utter horror.

"That's it! Window!" he shouted, a powerful arm darting out directly at my throat. For a brief second, my survival instinct kicked back in and I realized what a stupid little shit I had been. I was going to get two entries in the book. Is what I thought before the Custodian's hand closed down on nothing, passing right through my throat. The Custodian stared in disbelief before trying three more times, attempting to grab me with both hands the last time. Nothing happened.

A strange sense of jubilation passed through me. I wasn't corporal. He couldn't touch me. Letting out a whoop of laughter, I took a step back, flipping him off with both hands as I went. "I ain't going anywhere leathertit!"

"I like this one," the Emperor said. "And sadly, they are indeed Custodians, hence their presence here. Please do not make reference to them being active with my son again. Rogal could fuck everyone of legal age on the planet and call himself High Lady of Terra and I would gladly refer to Regalia as she. But the two strippers over there just have absolutely no self-control. And shit taste in clothing. Rogal can do so much better than them." Well, he certainly wasn't wrong.

"There used to be three of us," the Custodes hiding behind Dorne said sadly.

"What?" I said.

"We are talking about Living Saints right now," the Emperor said abruptly. "Tell me about them."

"Just one more question please," I said. "What happened to me? And why me?"

"Sigh," the Emperor said. "When you died, I used my abilities to reach out into the Warp and collect your soul before it faded away into the soup of serial rape murderers and screaming attention seekers that make it up. I feel that you will be of use. After all, I'm a fan of your work." And, to my utter horror, a copy of Avoiding Stupid Deaths in the 41st Millenium floated up from the Golden Throne's armrest. The one in which I admitted to committing several execution worthy offenses.

"It was a very entertaining read, my kind of attitude. I was considering possibly ordering an official distribution of it, but I feel that I may want to edit it personally before we move beyond indie press for this one. Killing Commissars is a bit like sleeping with someone's mother. Once is one thing, but if you do it every Saturday night, it's getting a little out of hand. I don't want a million strong army of horny boys and girls running around fucking everyone's parents." I had no idea what the Emperor was talking about, but I managed to vaguely understand that he didn't want my nastier actions recounted. Fair enough. "But you have a brain that I am very interested in picking, so I decided your time was not yet over. Now. Tell me about Living Saints."

Cautiously, I nodded. "I'll do my best, my Emperor. Living Saints are Sisters of Battle that have imbued with powers that can only be described as holy. Nearly all of them gain their powers when they are miraculously raised from the dead, sprouting wings and commonly sporting glowing halos, hence the name. They've been involved in quite a few important parts of Imperial history, such as Saint Celestine, who fought in the 13th Black Crusade, and Saint Sabbat, who fought alongside Warmaster Macaroth and First Lord Executor Gaunt."

"If Uriah learns about this I'm never going to hear the end of it," the Emperor said. I wondered if I should even bother asking. I then decided that the answer to that was a resounding no. "Still, I can at least follow the logic of religious belief when literal angels are flying around. A few things still need to be cleaned up in that regard." I still wasn't sure if I bought the "not a god" thing. "These Saints sound more like mutants more than anything else. But they are loyal?"

"Loyal and fierce my lord. Legends say Saint Celestine fights on par with Daemon Princes," I said, a small grin sprouting on my face. "Your loyal forces have their spirits bolstered in her presence, and those who turn against your word cower. She's disappeared many a time, thought dead, but always has returned to battle."

"This is encouraging to hear. There may not be many of these women, and I'm not certain I care for the term Saint, at least we have a few more skilled warriors out there, serving Chaos their own freshly fried buttocks," the Emperor said.

"I do not believe that one can cannibalize their own posterior father. The high blood loss would make such a task very difficult," Rogal said. Ok, what was going on with him?

"Rogal, Daddy is talking to a guest right now," the Emperor said, somehow his mechanical voice getting faster. "I think I would like to meet this Saint Celestine woman. Where is she?"

"Last I heard, she had joined up with Lord Guilliman as part of his Crusade," I said. A long, heavy silence followed this. It took me a minute to realize that all eyes in the room were on me. "Uh, did I say something wrong?"

"Please repeat what you just said," the Emperor said. It was impossible to read his tone, but even then I got the vague hint that he was angry. I had no idea why.

"Uh. Guilliman. Roboute Guilliman. Primarch of the Ultramarines? He was crowned Lord Regent of Terra and now leads the largest crusading force since the Great Crusade against the forces of Chaos and the other enemies of man? You know about this, right?"

"Guilliman has been revived?" Rogal asked, his dull monotone breaking to make way for genuine joy. "That makes four of my brothers that have returned."

"Well, I'll be damned," Magnus said in disbelief. "I suppose that means little Kitten never gave the order to...the order to...oh shit." With that, the cyclops looked up with worry at the Emperor. "Father?" The Emperor was silent. Then, without warning, jets of steam sprayed out of both sides of his head, not far from where his ears would've been. "Oh not again!" Bounding across the room, Magnus flicked his wrist. A giant hand of crimson energy formed above his head, one that immediately swooped down and grabbed me. "Time to go!"

I couldn't even say anything before Magnus darted for the door, dragging me right behind him. Meanwhile, Rogal had opened a trapdoor in the middle of the floor and grabbed the other two Custodes. "My glorious overlord, please don't!" one shouted.

"Boy. Make room in the bunker. It will be many hours before it is safe to come up again," Rogal said as he jumped in.

"WHY DO YOU KEEP LETTING NORMALS IN!?" the other Custodes shouted. The door slammed shut behind them as Magnus tore through Eternity Gate, concentrated Warp energy and a revenant's shriek of rage willed the throne room. Yep. I was in Hell.