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(A/N: Chapter 131 will soon be on Patreon!)
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(AGAIN!? My story got suspended again the second time this month and you know the crazy part? Apparently it was because some people were reporting it for Hate/Bullying and releasing Private Info! Jesus Christ who's even doing this!?)
The last thing Alastor remembered was going to sleep with his companion while on their journey to the World Ring across the frozen lands of Northrend.
This was NOT Northrend!
When Alastor opened his eyes, he found himself in an entirely different place—and not a pleasant one at that, which seemed to be becoming a norm for him, much to his frustration.
The land around him was, in the simplest of terms, a scarred and toxic wasteland. It reminded him somewhat of the Savage Lands on Azeroth.
Seeing nothing better to do, he chose a direction and began walking.
It was during this time that Alastor discovered two things.
For one, there seemed to be bandits—or some savage equivalent—roaming these badlands.
The second was that he wasn't physically present on whatever planet this was.
When Alastor saw two small groups fighting, he wanted to attack and interrogate the survivors.
Yet he literally passed through them, and the people themselves didn't seem to be able to see or hear him.
While it comforted Alastor to know that he wasn't randomly teleported to some distant world and that he most likely had a tether back to his body on Azeroth, it also annoyed him since it meant he couldn't gain information through any means other than what he himself heard.
In the end, he opted to continue walking. It was better to be productive than simply sit around until his astral projection—or whatever his current form was—returned to Azeroth.
And as luck would have it, the savages mentioned a golden palace during one of their conversations and how they intended to stay as far away from it as possible.
Naturally, they took the opposite direction.
So while they went one way, Alastor decided to head toward this mysterious golden palace.
A palace meant a significant number of people, which meant more information he could potentially gather.
He didn't know how long he had been walking and running. Apparently, time became rather iffy when you weren't entirely physically present—not just in the Warp.
Eventually, however, he saw the unmistakable signs of civilization.
Alastor immediately ran toward it at full speed, eventually reaching it and marveling at what he saw.
Alastor witnessed what could only be called mega-projects under construction.
Massive walls half a mile high.
Landing pads.
Marshalling grounds.
And a number of human workers so large that it was impossible to count them all.
Alastor walked along and looked around curiously, like a child or an enthusiastic tourist, as his inner architect and scientist had already begun working out the overall benefits, strategic importance, and potential integration of such structures.
He had to give props to these people. Their engineering and architectural capabilities, at least when it came to size and grandeur, were genuinely something to admire.
Just the visual impact of the completed structures would have an effect on both loyalist and foreign forces.
But that didn't mean Alastor was entirely pleased.
For one, his mind had already devised better alternatives that could provide just as much defense, if not more, while requiring fewer resources.
Then there were the humans he was seeing.
While he noticed that they weren't being treated unkindly and weren't exactly idle, as almost everyone seemed to be doing something, the conditions they themselves were living and working in—and their surroundings—left much to be desired.
But Alastor quickly shook his head at the thought.
He was comparing them to the standards of humans on Azeroth.
And as for the surroundings, that was also more a matter of circumstance than deliberate choice. Something told him that this toxic wasteland "aesthetic" was simply a far more common sight around this planet.
Alastor was conflicted by the emotions he was feeling.
On one hand, there was pride.
On the other, there was an awkward sense of smugness.
Because he couldn't deny that he felt proud—and, dare he say, a little smug—about the superiority of not only his world but also its humans.
God, I hope this doesn't mean I'm starting to sound like an arrogant elf.
Except for the Blood Elves and Night Elves.
They were cool.
And much more likeable than the old High Elves under that bastard Anasterian.
As Alastor continued moving deeper into the territory, he catalogued whatever he saw and wondered if he could apply some of these ideas to his own projects in the future.
Eventually, he came upon the "Inner Palace."
Kilometers-high golden pyramids and spires that rose into the sky, reaching beyond the troposphere itself.
By the time he reached it, Alastor had gathered enough information from the conversations of others, and combined with everything he had seen up to this point, he had managed to piece together a fairly accurate picture of where he was.
This was Terra.
Or Earth, as it was once called in the old tongue.
The Cradle of Humanity.
The world from which humanity had originated and from which they had taken their first steps toward the stars.
And also the birthplace of him and the other Primarchs.
<--------------------------------------------------->
Entering through the massive, closed gates wasn't particularly difficult, since Alastor could literally just walk through them.
He began exploring the Inner Palace with even more wonder.
While the Outer Palace also possessed beautiful architecture, with countless other magnificent structures still under construction, the Inner Palace was the true magnificence of the Imperial Palace on Terra.
He saw beautiful murals, statues, depictions, paintings, and other works of art that would probably cause quite a few of the artists on Azeroth to go crazy and draw inspiration from them for their own future works of art and culture.
Although he would be the first to admit that, while the place was undeniably grand and magnificent, it wasn't exactly his cup of tea.
Bit too gaudy for my taste... not to mention there's way too much gold.
But while he saw many great things, Alastor also found things he didn't like.
Chief among them were the Tech-Priests.
Alastor had to do a double take when he saw them because he couldn't believe what he was looking at.
Fucking hell, I didn't even think they were fleshy beings, much less human!
Light fucking damn it, what did these people do to their bodies!?
Alastor wasn't ignorant of bionics. It wasn't uncommon to see members of the Science Guild installing them on themselves.
But even then, half the time it was because of injuries or disabilities, and even those cases rarely involved anything excessive.
Were these Slaanesh worshippers!?
Otherwise, he couldn't understand the need for such self-mutilation.
Either they worshipped Slaanesh, or they were just insane!
But that was nothing compared to what he saw next.
A group of Servitors followed behind a Magos.
At first, Alastor thought they were simply similar to the Tech-Priests, perhaps lower-ranking members of their order?
But then he looked "closer."
And let's just say it was a good thing his current form was only a projection.
Otherwise, he would have grabbed the Tech-Priests in question, very violently demanded answers from them, before proceeding to tear them apart!
WHAT SORT OF BLOODY FUCKING CRUEL JOKE WAS THIS!?
Why were actual ALIVE human beings—even if they were no longer aware of what had been done to them—being turned into such macabre abominations!?
If something like this had ever been attempted on Azeroth, Alastor would have had the person who authorized it, along with everyone who participated in or assisted with it, executed without hesitation or remorse.
Alastor had to take some time to calm himself down, if not for the sake of anyone else, then for his own.
Eventually, he continued his exploration, albeit with considerably less enthusiasm than before.
Along the way, he encountered all sorts of people: soldiers, scribes, administrators, and perhaps the most eye-catching of them all, the Astartes.
Otherwise known as Space Marines.
The Astartes were genetically enhanced super-soldiers of the Imperium of Man, divided into twenty Legions.
They had been created using the genetic blueprints of the twenty Primarchs.
Alastor knew that one of those Legions was his as well.
And he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious.
Making a decision, he followed a squad of Astartes as they made their way toward a so-called gathering of different Legions. It didn't take him long to realise that this was essentially a series of matches between Astartes from different Legions.
The gathering itself was taking place in the middle of what appeared to be the border between the Inner Palace and the Outer Palace. Many Astartes had gathered around a makeshift but sturdy arena.
Alastor saw different Astartes wearing different types of armour and livery. He eventually found an elevated vantage point that gave him a clear view of the arena before sitting down and enjoying the show.
This was something he could relate to, considering how deeply ingrained martial culture was on Azeroth.
With its long history of war, Alastor had grown up seeing a wide variety of warriors.
From normal soldiers sparring with their fists or chosen weapons, to elite knightly duels, to legendary battles between Heroes.
In fact, fighting and martial prowess were such common sights that, aside from tournaments being quite normal on his homeworld, if two people had a particular problem with each other, the best and simplest way to solve it was to fight it out!
It was almost considered common sense among his people, and Alastor had lost count of the number of times he'd seen two people arguing over something, only for them to come to blows.
And then, more often than not, those very same people would later be seen laughing together, trading compliments, or sharing drinks.
The Astartes were skilled and highly trained, without a doubt.
Alastor easily recognised their discipline and could distinguish the general fighting styles of the different Legions as they sparred.
Elite troops indeed.
They reminded him somewhat of Azeroth's resident knights, albeit with far more diverse cultures between each Legion.
But then Alastor saw someone else enter the arena.
Unlike the other Astartes, this man wasn't wearing any armour.
Hell, even his power sword's field had been deliberately turned off.
He was a stoic man with black hair and blue eyes, and his body was different from the other Astartes as well, as he had no interface ports or other obvious transhuman features.
All in all, he looked more like an ascended human than a transhuman warrior.
It also didn't take Alastor long to realise that this was his "gene-son."
He could feel a fiery energy very similar to his own coursing through his gene-son's body.
Alastor also noticed others of the 2nd Legion, as he got a similar feeling from them.
He also noted that, unlike the other Legions, his Legion had another peculiar trait.
It had female Astartes.
What is he doing!?
Alastor felt an unfamiliar sense of worry as he watched his gene-son enter the arena in such a state.
But that worry quickly dissipated and transformed into pride as he watched his gene-son not only challenge multiple opponents but defeat each of them despite the handicaps he'd placed upon himself.
Though Alastor did notice that his gene-son's opponents were all from a single Legion.
A Legion whose warriors bore the symbol of "I", meaning First.
Did my gene-children have some problem with them?
But despite that, it didn't stop Alastor from all but rooting for his gene-son!
When his final opponent entered the arena—a massive Astartes wearing bulky and heavily reinforced power armour—Alastor couldn't help himself from bursting into laughter as his "son" proceeded to punch the other man across the arena, all but dismantling him in the process.
Oh, there's definitely some bad blood there.
But considering how much the other Astartes are cheering for him, whoever that Legion is, they aren't particularly liked.
It also helped that Alastor was a firm believer in the fact that if someone was being an asshole, they deserved to get punched in the face.
If anything, he was proud to see his "son" inadvertently following in his footsteps.
Seeing that Connor's—he'd heard his name being called out during the fights—matches were finally over, Alastor shifted his attention toward his other "kids," wanting to get a good look at them as well.
The most eye-catching one he found, aside from Connor, was Raphael.
The redhead gave off a more vibrant "life" feeling that Alastor found particularly noticeable.
He was even surprised when he felt two of his "kids" possessing the power of the Holy Light coursing through them.
That was surprising, considering he was fairly certain that no one on this world knew how to harness the Holy Light.
Not that it was impossible.
Even the First Generation of the Church's priests had needed to start somewhere when the First Archbishop and Founding Saint of the Light spread the faith during the time of Thoradin.
But still, compared to having actual practitioners and established training methods, it would be MUCH harder unless the individuals' souls were highly attuned to the Light.
Alastor eventually came to the conclusion that his genetics might be the most viable reason some of his gene-children had such a robust connection to the Light.
And he meant it.
While he didn't know their exact skill levels, just the intensity of the Holy Light he felt from the members of the 5th Host was no less powerful than that of the Great Paladins—the likes of Saidan, Turalyon, Gavinrad, and Alexandros.
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Deciding to go a bit farther ahead into the Inner Palace, since Connor was taking his time with the funny golden banana man called Kitten, Alastor continued exploring.
The "Golden Banana Man" in question, for some reason, felt greatly offended.
Alastor stopped when he noticed a mural depicting soldiers and what appeared to be a different breed of transhuman warriors fighting against what could only be described as cybernetic monstrosities.
Just what type of abominations did they fight?
And why haven't I seen these types of warriors despite the time I've spent exploring? Were they perhaps in another section of the Inner Palace?
Alastor was taken out of his musings when he heard footsteps.
He looked up and saw Connor, along with his friend Kitten, approaching from the other end of the wall.
Alastor smiled.
But then he saw Connor's shocked expression.
And...
He was looking right at him!
Alastor himself felt a surge of surprise, especially since he knew he was still completely invisible to others, considering Kitten hadn't even reacted to seeing him.
But despite the implications, Alastor felt a sudden surge of nervousness and excitement.
Can he see me?
Sadly, it quickly died down when, after a moment, Connor was once again looking through him.
He couldn't see Alastor anymore than the others could.
Again.
Alastor wouldn't lie.
He felt disappointed.
But he simply shook his head and followed after them once again as they went to meet another of his gene-children, a woman called Minerva.
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"Hahahahahaha!!!"
Alastor was laughing like a maniac, to the point that he was on his knees with tears in his eyes.
As for the reason?
"Kitten" was being attacked by a sludge monster, courtesy of his gene-daughter Minerva.
"IT'S TOUCHING ME! IT'S TRYING TO TOUCH ME! DON'T LET IT GET THROUGH MY ARMOUR!!!" Kitten yelled hysterically as the purple-and-black sentient sludge tried to find an opening through his Auramite armour.
"Unhand him, foul mutated creature!" Connor yelled as he used his tactile telekinesis to admirably try to pry the sludge monstrosity off his friend. "Sister, what must we do!?"
"Don't struggle so hard." Minerva, the one actually responsible, calmly noted things down on her data pad with a serene smile on her face. "It only excites it further."
"Wha...?"
Kaythan paused for a microsecond as his Custodian-grade brain registered what she had said.
What did she mean by EXCITED!?
"CONNOR, SAVE ME!"
Kaythan, on the other hand, began struggling even more frantically to free himself.
Connor, thinking quickly, concentrated his TTK field around his hands as he held onto the sludge creature.
With a burst of force transmitted directly through it, the sludge was blasted away and sent crashing into the wall as Kaythan fell to the ground.
"Oh no."
Despite her words, Minerva didn't look particularly distressed as the sludge quickly gathered itself and turned toward Kaythan.
"It already has his scent."
"Minerva? What do you mean?" Connor asked worriedly as Kaythan shakily got back onto his feet.
"Oh, don't worry, big brother. It has zero chance of giving him any sort of injury, much less being deadly. He'll be fine."
"His dignity, though...."
Minerva's smile was so angelic that it would have terrified mortals and daemons alike.
"On the bright side, this will be great speed and agility training for Kitten here."
She then looked toward Kaythan.
"Speaking of which, you better start running, Kitty Kat."
Kaythan froze.
The sludge pounced on him with a disturbing amount of excitement, causing him to immediately rely on his extreme speed and agility to dodge out of its way.
He backrolled and charged out of the chamber, blasting the reinforced doors off their hinges in the process.
Then, with a very "manly" scream, Kaythan ran like Slaanesh herself/himself was on his tail.
"Someone help me! And it's Kaythan!"
The sludge monster was in hot pursuit, and behind it ran Connor.
The sight left the mortal humans passing through the halls completely flabbergasted at what they had just witnessed.
Back in the chamber, a female mortal scribe who had been in the room to deliver some materials to Minerva blinked owlishly at what she had just seen.
She then hesitantly looked at Minerva.
"Lady Minerva? May I ask a question?"
Minerva had seen and heard how the Grey Wardens treated those of her station and similar positions.
Not to mention the instinctive sense of comfort she felt around them.
So she dared to ask.
"Of course Wylla, speak your mind." Minerva put down the data pad and looked down at the mortal with a much more gentle and understanding smile.
Wylla had to take an extra moment as she inwardly preened at a Grey Warden of all people remembering her name much less a Warden Commander.
"A thousand thanks, Milady. The thing I want to ask, though, is, uh..."
Wylla had an awkward expression on her face.
"Is there any particular reason you needed to conduct such an experiment?"
"I can give you many different sorts of answers to that question, Wylla, but the simplest and truest one was this."
Minerva placed a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes as if she were conveying some profound lesson.
"For Science!"
Wylla blinked.
"Oh..."
Alastor, from his place, wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled widely as he looked at Minerva and then at the destroyed entrance.
He felt pride seeing how his "children" treated mortals from everything he'd seen up until now.
But he also felt happy that, like him, some of his gene-children also had bouts of "inspiration."
Hmph! And Rhonin, Varian, Alleria, and so many others dared to call them "mad scientist" episodes.
After that, Alastor spent the rest of his time looking around the Imperial Palace and occasionally tailing people of interest.
More importantly, however, he wanted to see the Throne Room and the Emperor of Mankind himself.
He wasn't worried about being discovered.
During the time he'd spent on Terra—and, more importantly, within the Inner Palace—if the Emperor's perception had picked up even the slightest anomaly, he would have either sent his Custodes to investigate or appeared himself.
The fact that he hadn't only told Alastor that the Emperor was just as unaware of his presence as everyone else.
Since that was the case, Alastor wanted to see the Emperor for himself.
Not to mention, he was technically his biological father as well.
But sadly, it wouldn't be possible this time.
Because the next thing he knew, his "projection" was fading.
He felt a tug on his soul.
And then he disappeared in a flash of light.
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Alastor thought he would wake up in his body once again, back on Northrend in Azeroth.
Instead, he found himself somewhere else.
I hope this isn't becoming a pattern.
Though thankfully, while it was a place he'd never been to before, it was one he knew about.
Alastor looked around at the pristine and vibrant natural paradise dominated by nature itself.
Endless tranquil forests, wide-open green spaces, and vibrant floral fields stretched across the landscape.
The sky was a beautiful emerald green and blue, while floating architectural elements styled after Night Elf and Green Dragon aesthetics could be seen throughout the realm, considering they were the ones who interacted with this realm the most.
The Emerald Dream.
The dimension that protected the minds and dreams of the inhabitants of Azeroth, and which was also the untouched blueprint of the planet if it had never been altered by mortal hands.
"Why couldn't I be trapped in this dimension instead? It even smells so much better than that cesspit Nurgle calls a garden."
That fucking cosmic tumour could learn something from the Emerald Dream about what an actual "garden" should look like!
But then Alastor paused as his senses caught a very familiar presence.
He was surprised to find that presence here, but Alastor nevertheless made his way through the lush forest before climbing to the top of one of the ancient, towering trees.
And then he saw what he was looking for in the distance.
A very confused and bewildered Connor cautiously traversing the landscape.
Alastor smirked as he jumped down and made his way over to him.
He then sat down on a massive tree root and watched his gene-son with an amused smile.
"You look quite lost there."
Connor quickly turned toward Alastor while instinctively reaching for his sword—which, unfortunately, wasn't with him.
But then Connor's eyes widened as he looked at Alastor.
"You're...!?"
"Hello, Connor."
Alastor's smile widened.
"It's great to finally meet you."
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