Towards A Brighter Future Chapter 12

(Sorry for the shorter than usual chapter. Work was Hectic)

The earth around Aurelian seemed to hum with ancient power as he stood before the STC terminal, the Waifu Catalog pad gripped in his massive hand. Duke's face filled the small screen, his expression shifting from surprise to calculated interest as Aurelian revealed his discovery.

"Well, well, well," Duke drawled, settling back into what appeared to be a butter-soft leather chair, the material creaking slightly as he shifted his weight. "You've been busy, haven't you? Conquering a kingdom, taming monsters... finding lost technology. I'm almost impressed."

The cool air of the underground chamber prickled against Aurelian's skin as his eyes narrowed. "You knew this was here." It wasn't a question.

"I know lots of things," Duke replied, examining his fingernails with exaggerated nonchalance, the pad's microphone capturing the soft scrape as he ran his thumb across them. "That's why I'm the handler and you're the asset."

"Asset," Aurelian repeated, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. His voice echoed slightly in the cavernous space, bouncing off ancient walls that had witnessed millennia of silence.

Duke's face hardened, the playfulness vanishing as he leaned toward the camera, his features filling the screen. "What matters is what you've found. Is it what I think it is?"

The terminal's soft amber glow cast dancing shadows across Aurelian's face as he turned the pad to reveal the gleaming pillar behind him. "If you think it's a fully functional STC terminal, then yes." His heart raced despite his outward calm, the implications sending electric currents of excitement through his transhuman body. "And not just any terminal. This appears to be a complete, uncorrupted system. According to the logs I've accessed, it contains the entirety of humanity's technological knowledge from the Dark Age of Technology."

Duke's eyes widened—a flash of genuine emotion breaking through his carefully maintained facade. "You're sure it's uncorrupted? No signs of tampering?" His voice had dropped an octave, all pretense gone.

"None that I can detect," Aurelian replied, running his fingers reverently along the terminal's smooth surface, feeling the subtle vibration of ancient machinery beneath his touch. "The system was sealed in a null-field, protected from both physical intrusion and Warp influence. Gharis somehow gained access, but he only scratched the surface of what's here."

"And the templates?" Duke pressed, leaning so close to his camera that Aurelian could see the pores on his nose. "What have you found?"

The word fell from Aurelian's lips like a prayer: "Everything." His voice dropped to a whisper that nonetheless carried in the perfect acoustics of the chamber. "Plasma technology beyond anything the Mechanicus currently possesses. Gravitics. Void shields small enough for personal use. Medical technology that could regrow limbs in hours. And... Men of Iron designs."

A shadow passed over Duke's face at the mention of Men of Iron, his pupils dilating slightly. "Careful with those."

The terminal's soft hum seemed to intensify as Aurelian admitted, "That's actually why I contacted you. The Men of Iron templates represent an immense strategic advantage, but their historical rebellion is well-documented. I was hoping you might have insight on modifications from the company that could ensure their loyalty. Perhaps ways to make them resistant to Chaos corruption?"

Duke's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching visibly beneath his skin. "Can't do it," he said flatly, all trace of his usual smug demeanor vanished.

The blunt response hit Aurelian like a physical blow, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Surely with the right safeguards—"

"No," Duke cut him off, his voice sharp enough to slice through the humming air. "Unless it was an A.I that came from outside of the Warhammer 40k universe, they would always tend toward independence from their creators."

Aurelian's mind raced, calculating possibilities. "But with modifications to their core programming—"

"Which, as sentient constructs, they're allowed to want," Duke continued relentlessly, his words carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "But this often leads to being corrupted by Chaos when they go independent, and then they start attacking humanity and other organic life anyway."

The cold reality of Duke's words settled in Aurelian's gut like a stone as the handler leaned forward, his face filling the screen entirely. "So if you wanted an A.I from outside the universe that wouldn't be taken over by Chaos..."

The implication hung in the air, heavy and unavoidable. Aurelian felt his shoulders tense, the weight of realization pressing down on him like a physical burden.

"I would have to take a waifu," he admitted, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. His voice echoed in the chamber, seeming to mock him from all sides. "Something like Cortana or EDI. A being from another reality whose nature would be incompatible with Chaos corruption."

"Something you've already refused on principle," Duke noted, his smirk returning, teeth gleaming in the light of whatever room he occupied.

Aurelian's jaw muscles bunched beneath his skin. "Yes."

A soft chuckle escaped Duke's lips as he leaned back, the leather chair creaking beneath him. "Those waifu choices are looking real nice right about now, aren't they? Should've taken me up on my offer when you had the chance. Not that you cant right now if you want…or anytime for that matter….."

"I stand by my decision," Aurelian replied, his voice firm despite the flicker of doubt that passed behind his eyes, visible only for an instant.

"Your call," Duke said with a dismissive shrug that sent ripples through his clothing. "But remember what's at stake. This isn't just about your personal moral stance anymore. You've got people depending on you now."

The weight of Duke's words pressed against Aurelian's chest as he exhaled slowly, the sound amplified by the chamber's acoustics. His fingers moved to his temples, massaging them as if to physically push away the mounting pressure of responsibility—not just for his new kingdom, but potentially for humanity's future in this corner of the galaxy.

Duke's expression softened slightly, the lines around his eyes relaxing. "Cheer up," he offered, his tone almost genuine. "You found an STC, right? That alone is worth celebrating."

"Yes," Aurelian acknowledged, his voice echoing softly, "and while it does have some great tech—"

Duke lunged forward suddenly, his face filling the screen once more, eyes wide and intense. "It doesn't have just some great tech. It has ALL the great tech from the Dark Age of Technology. This isn't just some half-corrupted STC with a tank or knife blueprint. This is the real deal. Full access to the weapons and technology from before humanity's fall."

Aurelian's golden eyes narrowed, reflecting the amber glow of the terminal. "Then why can I only access a fraction of the templates? Most sections appear locked behind authentication protocols I can't bypass." His fingers brushed against the control panel, feeling the subtle resistance as he encountered locked sections.

Duke settled back, his movements deliberately casual though his gaze remained sharp. "Because your ROB patron doesn't want you just flying out of the planet thinking you could take on all comers. Patience and strategy have to be learned, even for a Primarch—even one with the powers of the Waifu Catalog at his disposal."

The implications crystallized in Aurelian's mind with transhuman clarity, connections forming and possibilities unfolding. "So this is a test? Or a game?" The question hung in the air, reverberating slightly in the ancient chamber.

"Life is a game, big guy," Duke replied with a wink that seemed to carry hidden meanings. "You're just playing with higher stakes than most."

Silence descended between them, broken only by the soft hum of machinery that had waited millennia to be awakened. The amber lights of the terminal reflected in Aurelian's golden eyes as he processed this revelation, his expression unreadable.

"Well, time for me to go..." Duke announced, his hand reaching toward whatever camera captured his image. His lips curled into a knowing smile. "Unless you'd like to make your first waifu purchase? Tifa Lockhart or Jane Shepard would just looooveeee to help you out. And Cortana is still up for grabs—she'd interface with that STC like it was foreplay."

A snort of disgust escaped Aurelian's lips, the sound echoing in the chamber. "No."

"Your loss," Duke chuckled, his laughter cutting off abruptly as the screen went dark, leaving Aurelian alone with the ancient technology and his thoughts.

For several minutes, the Primarch stood motionless, his breathing the only sound besides the patient hum of machinery that had waited thousands of years for this moment. The air around him seemed charged with potential—with futures yet unwritten and powers yet unleashed. His transhuman mind calculated possibilities, weighed moral implications, and considered the path forward, all while the STC terminal pulsed with steady, amber light, waiting for his command.

Finally, Aurelian approached the terminal again and placed his palm against the interface. The amber lights brightened in response, and a holographic display materialized before him—showing the accessible templates.

"I don't need Men of Iron or an A.I," he muttered to himself. "Not yet, at least."

Aurelian stared at the terminal, his transhuman mind racing with implications. The STC database before him was more than just technology—it was power incarnate. Power that would make him the target of every faction in the Imperium should they ever learn of it.

"Fuck that!" he muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the cavernous chamber. "I'm not about to let them have it all in the name of 'We know better than you' or some other bullshit they would come up with."

The Mechanicus would declare him heretical for even touching the machine without proper rituals. They'd demand the STC be surrendered to Mars, where it would be studied for millennia, its secrets doled out in microscopic portions to maintain their monopoly on knowledge. And the Emperor himself? Aurelian could already imagine his gene-father's calculating gaze, the way he would view this find as merely another tool in his grand, secretive design.

His fingers danced across the ancient controls, the interface responding to his touch as if recognizing the genetic imprint of a being designed by the same mind that had once overseen the creation of such technology. The holographic display shifted, expanded, revealing directories of knowledge that had been lost for ten thousand years.

"Show me what you have," he commanded, his voice soft yet firm.

The terminal hummed, and a categorized index materialized before him. Even with the apparent restrictions Duke had mentioned, the list was staggering.

COLONIAL INFRASTRUCTURE TECHNOLOGY

Aurelian's eyes widened as he scrolled through detailed schematics for automated farming systems that could transform barren wastelands into fertile fields within months. Mining units designed to extract resources with minimal environmental impact. Complete specifications for hive cities—not the cancerous, inefficient structures of the 41st millennium, but elegant, self-sustaining arcologies that could house millions in comfort.

Most impressive were the automated construction units—machines that could be fed schematics and would then build virtually anything, from modest habitations to massive fortifications. With these, he could transform Leostra and Astera into true bastions of civilization.

"Space station construction..." he murmured, pausing on a particularly detailed file. The specifications showed orbital platforms that could house thousands, with defensive capabilities that would make them virtually impregnable. Perfect for establishing a presence beyond Aurion's atmosphere—a crucial first step toward the stars.

BIOLOGICAL AND MEDICAL TECHNOLOGY

This section caught his attention immediately. Gene modification technology far beyond anything the Imperium currently possessed—even beyond what the Emperor had used to create the Primarchs and Astartes. With this, he could potentially enhance the population of Aurion, making them stronger, more resilient to the harsh environment and dangerous fauna.

The techno-implants were equally impressive—subtle augmentations that could enhance human capabilities without the grotesque mechanization favored by the Adeptus Mechanicus. And the medical technology...

"A true panacea," Aurelian whispered, his voice tinged with awe as he reviewed specifications for medical devices that could cure virtually any disease, heal any wound, even regrow lost limbs in hours rather than days. This alone would revolutionize life on Aurion.

MATERIALS AND WEAPONS TECHNOLOGY

The metallurgical techniques described here would allow for the creation of alloys stronger and lighter than anything currently available on Aurion. Combined with the construction units, he could outfit his forces with armor that would make them nearly invulnerable to the local monsters.

And the weapons... Aurelian's expression hardened as he reviewed designs for mass-produced lasguns far more powerful and efficient than Imperial standard. Melta weapons that could reduce even the most formidable monsters to slag in seconds. Power weapon technology that would make his hunters' blades capable of cutting through virtually anything.

Most intriguing were the bolter schematics—designs for weapons similar to those wielded by Space Marines, but optimized for unaugmented human use. With these, his forces could potentially stand against any threat, even those from beyond Aurion.

VOID TECHNOLOGY

Here lay the key to his ultimate ambitions. Advanced Gellar field technology that would allow safer passage through the Warp. Communication systems that didn't rely on astropaths or the Warp at all. And most crucially, schematics for voidships from the Dark Age of Technology—vessels whose capabilities far exceeded anything the Imperium would field save for a handful of exceptional examples.

Aurelian's attention lingered on these designs, his mind already calculating the resources needed, the time required. With these ships, he could eventually journey beyond Aurion, seek out his brothers—Angron, Konrad Curze, Mortarion—and save them from the fates that awaited them. Perhaps even find a way to prevent Sanguinius's death...

A flashing red light pulled him from his contemplation. On a separate monitor, a warning pulsed with increasing urgency:

"BLACK PROTOCOL ENGAGED — STANDBY MODE ACTIVE"

"Containment Field Integrity: 60%"

"WARNING: DEACTIVATION WILL NULLIFY HYBERGENIC STASIS GRID — EDRGN CLASS X-PREDATOR ZONES COMPROMISED."

Aurelian's fingers blazed across the terminal, his enhanced mind absorbing information at a rate no normal human could match. The Black Protocol's purpose revealed itself through layers of encrypted data—a planetary containment system designed to keep Elder Dragons in perpetual hibernation.

"So this is how Gharis maintained his empire," Aurelian murmured, golden eyes reflecting the terminal's amber glow. "Not through mere political control, but by suppressing the very apex predators of this world."

The data confirmed what had been nagging at his tactical senses since arriving on Aurion. The monster ecosystem seemed incomplete—lacking its capstone predators. According to the records, some Elder Dragons had occasionally stirred over the centuries before the fields forced them back into slumber. This explained Kento's offhand remark about not seeing an Elder Dragon "in living memory, last being ten years ago..."

They weren't extinct or hiding. They were imprisoned.

A cold feeling settled in Aurelian's gut as he delved deeper into the records. The containment system was divided into geographical zones, with ten areas specifically designated as "ARMAGEDDON class monster containment." These presumably housed the most catastrophic specimens—beings whose power approached that of natural disasters. The smell of ozone and ancient dust filled his nostrils as he leaned closer to the screen, the artificial light casting harsh shadows across his face.

One entry caught his attention, making the hairs on his neck stand up:

CONTAINMENT ZONE: ALPHA OMEGA-PRIME

SUBJECT: FATALIS (BLACK)

THREAT ASSESSMENT: EXTINCTION-LEVEL

NOTES: Subject demonstrates anomalous regenerative capabilities and possible sentience. Extreme caution advised. Field strength at maximum sustainable output.

The terminal displayed a grainy image that made even Aurelian's transhuman heart skip—a black dragon with eyes that seemed to burn with malevolence and intelligence even through the static-filled recording. He could almost feel those eyes staring back at him through time and technology, aware and calculating.

"So this is what you truly feared, Gharis," Aurelian whispered, his breath fogging slightly in the cold air of the ancient chamber. "Not just the common monsters, but these living cataclysms. By The Stars and I thought fighting it in the game was bad enough."

He leaned back from the terminal, the chair creaking under his massive frame. His mind raced through the implications, each thought crashing against the next like waves in a storm. The containment system represented everything about Gharis's approach to ruling—controlling nature itself, suppressing the natural order to maintain artificial stability. It was the same philosophy that had kept humanity stagnant for ten millennia in the Imperium—fear of change, fear of challenge, fear of evolution.

Aurelian had seen firsthand what that path led to—a rotting empire of superstition and decay. The memory of it tasted bitter in his mouth.

In contrast, he believed in strength through challenge. The cycle of predator and prey, of adaptation and evolution—this was how species grew stronger. Some would fall, and that was regrettable but inevitable. His heart ached at the thought of the losses to come, but his mind remained resolute. The strongest would survive and adapt. This was the way of life across every world he had studied in the Great Library.

His decision crystallized with the clarity of absolute conviction, settling in his chest like a weight and a liberation simultaneously.

"Computer," he commanded, voice resonating with authority through the silent chamber, "initiate deactivation sequence for all containment fields."

The terminal flashed red in warning, the sudden crimson glow reflecting in his golden eyes:

CAUTION: DEACTIVATION WILL RELEASE ALL CONTAINED SPECIMENS. POPULATION CENTERS AT EXTREME RISK. PROCEED?

Without hesitation, Aurelian confirmed the command. Despite the system's warnings, he doubted the elder dragons would immediately attack settlements; more likely they would begin fighting for new territory against other monsters. His fingers moved with deliberate precision as the screen shifted through a series of authorization protocols, which he methodically overrode using administrative codes gleaned from Gharis's personal files. The clicking of the keys echoed in the chamber like a countdown.

"WARNING: FIELD DEACTIVATION SEQUENCE INITIATED. CONFIRM FINAL AUTHORIZATION."

Aurelian's fingers paused momentarily over the interface. The weight of billions of lives had rested on his father's shoulders. Now, the fate of a world rested on his. This decision would bring death to many—he harbored no illusions about that. The faces of those who might perish flashed through his mind: hunters, villagers, children. He felt their phantom weight on his conscience already. But it would also forge the survivors into something greater.

"AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED," he typed, feeling the finality of each keystroke.

The screen flashed red, then green, displaying: "HYBERGENIC STASIS GRID DEACTIVATION PROCESS BEGUN. ESTIMATED COMPLETION: 72 HOURS."

"Three days," Aurelian murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of ancient machinery. "Enough time to prepare, at least."

He rose to his full height, towering in the dim light of the ancient chamber. The air around him seemed to vibrate with the magnitude of his decision. "I'll make sure to warn all the hunters of Verdantia and the settlements on the other continents," he said aloud, though no one was present to hear. "They deserve time to prepare for what's coming."

His decision made, he returned to studying the STC contents with renewed purpose. There was much work to be done—a world to rebuild, technology to implement, and now, Elder Dragons to prepare for. His heart pounded with a strange mixture of dread and exhilaration.

Aurelian began organizing the technologies into implementation tiers, his mind working with machine-like efficiency as his inner thoughts raced with possibilities and contingencies:

• First Priority: Medical technology and agricultural improvements—these would immediately benefit all settlements and build goodwill. They'll need full bellies and healthy bodies for what's coming.

• Second Priority: Defensive technology and improved hunter gear for all hunters—necessary with the Elder Dragons awakening. We'll arm them with the means to survive, to fight back.

• Third Priority: Infrastructure, farming, mining and manufacturing—establishing the foundation for larger projects. The foundation of an empire that might one day reach the stars.

• Long-Term: Void ship construction—the eventual means to leave Aurion and seek out his brothers. To find them before the darkness claims them. To change fate itself.

He created a preliminary timeline, estimating resource requirements and training needs. The people of Aurion would need time to adapt to these technological leaps—introducing everything at once would cause chaos. His fingers traced patterns in the dust as he mentally mapped out distribution centers, training facilities, defense perimeters.

As he worked, a sudden pulse of psychic energy washed over him—faint but unmistakable. It felt like a distant thunderclap felt through the soles of his feet, reverberating through his enhanced nervous system. Aurelian froze, his enhanced senses reaching out. Something had changed in the world above. The containment fields shouldn't have weakened this quickly, but perhaps...

He closed his eyes, focusing his nascent psychic abilities. There—at the edge of his awareness—he felt it. A consciousness vast and ancient, stirring from dreamless sleep. One of the Elder Dragons was already beginning to awaken, responding to the weakening field faster than the system had predicted. Its mind brushed against his like an ocean against a shore—vast, alien, and inexorable.

"Interesting," Aurelian muttered, a cold sweat beading on his forehead despite his transhuman physiology. "They're more sensitive to the fields than the records indicated."

He made a mental note to accelerate the preparation schedule, his thoughts racing ahead to contingency plans and evacuation routes. If the elder dragons were waking faster than anticipated, they would need to move quickly. He could almost feel time slipping away beneath his fingers.

Returning to the terminal, Aurelian initiated a download of the most critical STC templates to a data tablet he'd found among the ship's stock. The crystal hummed as it absorbed terabytes of information—medical technology, defensive systems, agricultural improvements, and basic manufacturing schematics. The device grew warm in his hands, vibrating slightly with the immense data transfer.

A soft chime indicated the download was complete. Aurelian put the tablet in a bag and took one final look at the ancient ship and the technological treasure trove it contained. This discovery had changed everything—accelerating his plans by decades, perhaps centuries. The weight of possibility hung in the air, almost tangible.

Yet with this great power came great responsibility. The Elder Dragons would soon awaken, testing the hunters of Aurion as they hadn't been tested in generations. But from this crucible would emerge a stronger humanity—one worthy of the stars that awaited them. And perhaps many who would stand beside him as his sons.

"I have work to do," Aurelian said, his voice echoing in the ancient chamber as he gathered his notes and headed back toward the staircase. His footsteps resonated with purpose, each one carrying him toward a future now irrevocably altered.

As he ascended, a subtle tremor ran through the foundation of the palace—the first sign that somewhere, deep beneath the mountains or oceans of Aurion, something ancient and powerful had begun to stir from its enforced slumber. The vibration traveled up through his boots and into his bones, a primal warning that nature's balance was about to be restored, for better or worse.