Everqueen Reclamation - 44 (Bonus Alternate Version 1, Non-Canon)

Author's Note: I'm so sorry, I wrote a new version of (44) and intended to publish it but uploaded the wrong chapter by accident. This is the correct version.

EDIT: I went back and forth on chapter 44 many times, so I'm releasing the alternate versions as a free bonus for all members of my Patreon. Another one will follow shortly.

***
Leaving Isha behind in the labs to continue her study of the Fifteenth Legion, the Emperor withdrew to his private study.

He had made no changes to the decor, but it was more…comforting somehow, now that sunlight spilled through the windows and the blue sky was visible outside, rather than being choked by toxic clouds.

Settling into his chair, George pondered what to do next.

Between Isha’s request that they should empower the Astronomican together and the revelation of the lingering curse on the Fifteenth Legion, George needed some time to gather his thoughts before he reached out to Magnus. To decide how best to approach his son about this potential course.

Obviously, he would need to project himself to Prospero rather than Magnus projecting to Terra. The chances the boy would notice something wrong if he came here were too high.

But beyond that, George wasn’t sure what to do. It had been a long time since he had had children, and he had never had children like the Primarchs. Horus was one thing, but contact with Magnus was infrequent and short, due to how busy George was.

Perhaps it was time to do something he hadn’t done in a while.

A flick of his wrist tightened the wards around the study, to ensure no one would interrupt him. Then, he added a new veil so that even Isha wouldn’t be able to detect what he was about to do. 

Closing his eyes, the Emperor breathed in deeply.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his study. 

Instead, he was standing in a great white void, with seemingly nothing and no one around him.

Nothing except for an enormous mirror, rimmed with gold, its crystal clear surface reflecting his own face back at him.

But not for long.

His reflection rippled and blurred and so did the void around him, shifting into the image of an ancient village next to a river, with blue skies overhead and farmers tilling their fields. The builds were small, humble and crude, but there was…a peace here that no one on Terra would be familiar with.

For this was not Terra. This was Old Earth, during the bygone days of the Emperor’s youth. 

The image in the mirror no longer reflected the Emperor, but instead depicted a venerable ancient with white hair and bronze skin, wearing humble brown robes woven from rough cloth.

But their eyes were the same shining gold as the Emperor’s.

“So, that time has come again,” The Shaman intoned. “It has been quite some time since you did this last.”

The Emperor nodded respectfully. “It has, elder.”

The Shaman was not technically one of his past lives, but rather the culmination of all the souls that had been sacrificed to create him. But those souls were him too, and their knowledge had been invaluable to him many times.

“You face a difficult dilemma, young one,” The Shaman said. “The Fifteenth Legion…I must confess, even I do not know how to cure them.”

The Emperor nodded, disappointed but unsurprised. He had access to all the Shaman’s knowledge. That was not what he was here for, in any case. 

He sought the wisdom and perspective of his past lives, not their knowledge, which he already wielded.

“My advice to you, young one, is simple. Give Lady Isha a chance to work on the problem, and gather information. She has more than proven herself worthy of our trust.” The Shaman said simply.

Before the Emperor could respond, the mirror and the world around them rippled violently, distorting and twisting.

The Shaman was replaced by an ancient warrior, clad only in furs, the scars across his body worn like badges of honour and a roughly hewn spear in one hand.

Around them, the world was no longer a village on primordial Terra, but an endless desert of red sands, with the violent winds swirling around them.

Mars, long before the Mechanicum was even an idea.

“Kill them all,” The Dragonslayer said simply. “Do not suffer rot to fester in the heart of your empire when you can excise it. It is the greatest mercy you can give them, a kinder fate than what Tzentech has in store.”

The Slayer had a point. Was it wise to allow a disease to linger when he could remove it immediately?

Then the world changed again, more gently this time. The red desert was replaced by a glittering city, the shining capital of a great kingdom.

And the Knight was replaced by a man who was both old and young, with white hair and a long beard, clad in blue robes.

“Don’t be so hasty as to make judgements,” The Mage admonished. “Isha has earned enough of our trust for her to let us try, at least. Do not be so quick to sacrifice those who might yet be saved. It may be necessary, in the end, but that is not clear yet.” 

The Emperor inclined his head, conceding the point. Rash judgement could be as terrible as no action at all.

But before he could say anything, the world around them shuddered violently, and the mirror trembled, cracks spreading across its surface.

The kingdom of chivalry was replaced by the seaside, waves of blue water lapping gently at the sands under the evening sun.

It would almost have been idyllic, if not for the ruins of an old house in the distance and the blood soaking the sands, the broken pieces of a child’s toys scattered around them.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” A new voice said from the mirror. “Since this is a curse of Tzentech, this would be my speciality, no?”

In the cracked glass, there was the distorted visage of a woman's black-painted lips twisting into a cruel smile. The woman had long golden hair and pale skin, with a startling, supernatural beauty…if not for her eyes. There was no iris or pupil visible, her eyes were voids of pure black, seemingly ready to swallow anyone who looked into them.

The Emperor’s jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists. “I have nothing I want to hear from you, Witch,” He snarled.

The Witch merely laughed, the discordant sound ringing across the mindscape. “As if I have any desire to speak to you, you murderous brute.” 

Only knowing that it would accomplish nothing stopped the Emperor from striking the mirror. “What do you want? Speak clearly, I have no time for games.”

The Witch sneered. “Fine. If you’re too stupid to understand, I’ll spell it out for you: I am part of us as much as the three of you, no matter how you wish to deny it. It was my mastery of science and sorcery that let us build the Primarchs, and then the Space Marines. Before we jump to executing the Fifteenth Legion, perhaps you three might consider that you should stop suppressing me except to draw on my knowledge and actually let me take a look at the Tzentech’s curse.”

“Never,” The Emperor snarled. “You led our son to ruination by teaching him too much of the Warp. We will not allow it to happen again.”

There it was, the dark secret he had not told anyone, not even Malcador or Isha. Yes, he had not needed to reincarnate since the Fourth Millennium.

But he had permitted the cycle of reincarnation to continue, allowing himself to die and be reborn over and over until one of his incarnations had committed a great folly. Had led their children to ruin and madness.

That incarnation had let herself pass on, as was right. But he, who had come after her, had decided that the time for reincarnation was over. Such folly could not be allowed to happen again.

The Witch’s expression twisted with rage. “You imbecile,” She snarled. “We are the same person. Do you think I do not feel the pain and regret for what happened? I do not intend to repeat our mistakes.”

The Emperor placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I will not let you ruin more of our children,” He said darkly.

“As opposed to you?” The Witch spat. “You’ll just turn them into perfect little weapons and then use them until they break or die.”

The Emperor recoiled as though he had been slapped. “That is not my intent,” He thundered. “I only do what is necessary.”

“As if I do not?” The Witch snapped back. “If you have forgotten, you could not have made the Primarchs without me. Deny me, suppress me, choose to forget all you like. But I am as much as part of our whole self as you are, whether or not you acknowledge it.”

Before the Emperor could respond, the world shook around them. The mirror broke apart entirely, the pieces floating in the air around him. The largest shard in front of him continued to depict the Witch, but the other shards depicted other lives: The Shaman, the Slayer, the Mage and more.

“Enough,” The Shaman’s voice echoed around them, the first and eldest of them asserting their authority. “Do not squabble like children.” 

The Emperor and the Witch both subsided mutinously, glowering at each other.

“You both raise fair points,” The Shaman said slowly. “We could not have made the Primarchs with you,” He told the Witch. “But as the Emperor says, you led one of our children down the path of folly before.”

The Witch breathed in deeply, before responding in a tight, controlled voice. “As I said, I regret that. But do not forget: we all made that choice. I may have been dominant, then, but I was still only a part of us. You should know this well, given you kept me suppressed and asleep until recently. I have no intention of repeating that mistake, of teaching any of our children the secrets of the Warp. I only wish to see if I can unravel the curse.”

“Even so, you have changed since then,” The Mage observed. “You are darker than you were then, angrier and colder.”

The Witch had not always been the Witch, after all. 

The Witch let out an angry, humourless laugh. “You think I want to be like this? Our own regret and self-hate have made me like this, being suppressed has made me like this! I have no desire to be this monster! This is not who I am, or who I was in life!”

“She is correct,” A new voice pointed out, an ancient king clad in bronze and gold, with thick dark hair and a braided beard. “She may have made mistakes, but it is our newest self who has twisted her like this.” 

“The King is right,” Another one added, a woman wearing the fatigues of a soldier, a large gun strapped to her back and camouflage paint smeared across her features. “And who is the Emperor to criticize her for her mistakes? Yes, she may have led one of our children down the path of folly, but his hands are no less soaked in innocent blood.”

The Emperor snarled. “I am the one who is alive! I am the one who has to take responsibility for our follies, who must correct them and rebuild mankind.”

“Yes,” The Shaman agreed softly. “But you are also the sum of all of us, the Witch included. You may pretend otherwise to the world, but you cannot lie here. Not to us.”

For that, the Emperor had no answer.

“Give the Witch a chance,” The Shaman said gently. “She cannot do anything without your permission, in any case. Her time is past, as is all of ours. We can only help you as much as you let us.”

Silence loomed as the Emperor considered. Loathe though he was to admit, the Witch was brilliant and knowledgeable, the one who made the greatest strides in the study of science and warpcraft before him.

If anyone could unravel the curse, she could.

“Fine,” He murmured.

Then, abruptly, he ended the meditation and opened his eyes to look at his study once more.

George grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had not consulted his past lives on the matter of the Astronomican and Isha’s request, but he did not think he could bear to talk with them any longer. There was a reason he so rarely consulted them like this.

For now, he needed to speak to his son.

Closing his eyes once more, the Emperor projected his will into the warp.

In the form of a golden beam of light, he pierced through the dark tides, searching for the luminous soul of his most psychically gifted son.

Isha’s presence was most immediately obvious, an ancient star steadily at work in the Imperial Palace. Malcador was holding court, a candle in the darkness yet all that much brighter for it.

And, there was Magnus, far in the distance. If Isha was a star and Malcador a candle, then Magnus was a bonfire, raw and untamed but burning ever so brightly.

The Emperor swam through the dark tides, cutting through the daemons and ignoring the furious gaze of the Four upon him.

He appeared inside a library, stacked with scrolls instead of books, with hieroglyphs painted on the walls. And with his nose buried in one scroll was Magnus, so absorbed that he hadn’t even noticed his father.

“Hello, my son,” George greeted warmly and Magnus’s head snapped up in shock. “It is good to see you.”