Nostramo, Quintus.
Above the gray-black clouds of the lightless world flickered faint traces of starlight flickered, not the light of stars, but the exhaust trails of starships.
Nostramo could reach several nearby systems through near-light-speed travel. Even in the Age of Strife, trade among them had never ceased.
Curze had no interest yet in establishing links with those worlds. Those ships belonged to the nobles of the spire; they had fled before the judgment of the Midnight Phantom could fall upon them.
Curze did not bother to judge them; there was still war waiting for him on Nostramo.
The planet had five hive cities, and Quintus was only one of them.
When news of Quintus's revolution and the overthrow of the spire's nobility spread to the other hives, the terrified nobles inevitably formed an alliance.
Though filled with rivalries and grudges of their own, at worst, they only sought each other's lives, yet the Midnight Phantom sought their very hearts!
In the other hives, tens of millions were hastily mobilized and armed.
In Quintus, the Midnight Phantom was also preparing for war. His warriors drilled in disciplined, militarized training.
Workers labored endlessly in the factories, nineteen Terran hours a day. They knew war was coming, yet they still contributed to the Midnight Phantom's cause. They had no lofty ideals, no understanding of justice or order; they fought for an extra hour's rest, and for the children they had sent to join the Midnight Phantom.
Both sides knew this was a war of survival, a clash of the new order against the old. The loser would be utterly purged by the victor.
But in the end, that war never began, for visitors from beyond the stars had come.
"Is war coming again?" Dorothy's slender fingers twisted at her clothes in anxiety, while little Philly wept in her arms, her eyes seared blind by the light.
Dorothy did not fear war. For years, war had been the tool by which they had torn down the old order and birthed new hope.
Even if the other hives had united, she believed the Midnight Phantom, under Curze and Caelan's leadership, would prevail and liberate the world.
But this was different. The enemy came from beyond the sky.
Their fleet was so vast that the flare of its engines blotted out the sun's light. Though Nostramo never saw the sun, the heavens were still lit by those drives, even the thick, polluted skies unable to conceal their brilliance.
For the first time, the lightless world was touched by light from the void, but it was a light that brought only suffocating despair.
"Caelan!" Curze shouted, more anxious than Dorothy.
"Don't worry, I'm still here." Caelan's voice steadied him; Curze saw no vision of Caelan's departure from his side.
Calming himself, he answered Dorothy, "Don't fear, Teacher Dorothy. They are not enemies."
"Then who are they?" she asked.
"My father," Curze said, "and probably my brothers. They have come for me."
Dorothy turned in confusion to Caelan. Wasn't he Curze's father? And how could Curze have brothers when she had practically raised him with her own eyes?
"Governor Dorothy," came Porcius's voice through the comms, "they request permission to land."
Dorothy was startled; the masters of this immense fleet had actually asked politely.
"Permission granted," she said.
Billions cried out and fled into the darkness, hiding in their homes, unable to look upon the sunlit brilliance.
They had lived in darkness all their lives, accustomed to it, never having seen light. Now the glare seared their eyes.
Through the clouds descended a procession of gilded vessels, landing upon the spire's great platforms.
Two thousand golden-armored warriors formed the vanguard phalanx. Behind them came thirty thousand more, clad in many colors, their ranks stretching to the horizon, marching in slow and solemn rhythm. The earth trembled beneath their steps.
And their leader was a giant among giants, a true sun, a god wearing mortal flesh.
Curze had long awaited him, but behind him stood only mortals.
Their bodies shook with fear, but they stood tall, for Curze stood before them.
As one, the armies halted. Thirty thousand warriors froze in perfect unison.
The god approached, arms open wide, as if to embrace a long-lost son.
"Kon- "
The first syllable struck Curze's heart like a spear.
Where others saw a god, he saw only a withered corpse upon a golden throne.
He saw a sundered galaxy, humanity's fall, darkness, ruin, endless war, and despair.
A cry of agony tore from his throat. Saliva seeped past clenched teeth, and blood gushed from his ruptured heart and throat. His hands clawed at the torrent, but his life drained with it, burning his pale fingers.
"Curze, calm yourself."
Caelan's hand took his, gripping firmly.
Like a helpless child, Curze clutched him, the tide of visions ebbing away, his pain stilled, his reason restored.
Raising his head, he glared at the god with fury.
"Are you here to threaten me?"
The god was startled.
"No, Konrad Curze, my son. I have come to bring you home."
"You've harmed my people!" Curze pointed behind him. "They are noble warriors, yet you blinded them with your light! Hundreds of millions, turned blind by your vanity!"
Curze believed the Emperor was a sun that drove away darkness, but one too bright, unable to dim his radiance.
And if humanity had no Kaufu to chase the sun and hold it in check, then Curze would be that Kaufu.
Silence fell. The giants stared in disbelief at a Primarch defying a god, while the mortals behind him stood proudly.
The god regarded Curze without expression, then bowed his head.
"You are right, Curze. This was my fault. I will make amends."
"And what will you use to repay this debt?" Curze began, but before he could finish, the god pointed to the sky.
The leaden clouds that had cloaked Nostramo for millennia dissolved, not torn aside by starship engines, but retreating of their own accord, as if in fear.
Golden light poured through the gaps, at first only threads, then a torrent of radiance like a waterfall from heaven.
A rain of gold descended. Each drop bore divine mercy, healing the wounded and mending sorrow.
Those blinded by the fleet's light now saw again. Even their accumulated toil-born ailments were cured.
Curze was silent.
Reason told him: 'The Emperor is no god.'
Reality said: 'You dare say you are not?'
The Emperor, knowing his thoughts, said softly:
"I am no god. This is only the simple use of psychic power."
.....
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