?
In this darkness that devoured senses and even concepts, the "human" silhouette sketched in light at once lit Sui Meng's highest battlefield alert.
Almost in the same breath, his body responded before conscious thought.
The vast psionics within him—broad as the star sea, still as the abyss—flared like a provoked star, bursting forth in a blaze of gold that forcibly carved a domain out of the surrounding night.
Vmmm—!
His personal power warspear thrummed low and dangerous, like an ancient behemoth startled awake.
At its tip, tightly compressed destructive energy bent the light, sending out ripples that made the fabric of space itself tremble—seconds from becoming a thunderbolt that would shear dimensions and lance the void, to erase this unknown, uncanny phantom from the plane of being.
Yet just as that flood of annihilating power was about to break free, an indescribable quiver from the deepest seal of his soul—like the stoutest thread—coiled and restrained the onrushing strike.
That "figure" standing quiet in the dark…
Something about it—a "quality" beyond sight or sound, a unique "information field" that sensors could not grasp—brought Sui Meng a startling familiarity…
Faint but real, like a sailor catching a homeland wind, like the lost hearing a mother's song…
Yes.
In the instant his spirit shook from that sudden familiarity, and his killing strike stalled a hair—
a voice he knew to the marrow—etched in him—one that had guided him countless times in youth, tempered his will, and given warmth as well—spoke with a weary knowing from the "direction" of the light. It rang directly in the depths of his awareness, like those private teachings in the temple long ago:
"Child, recall what I taught you: when facing the unknown and the uncanny, anger swayed by emotion and reckless abandon are forever wisdom's deadliest foes;
while meticulous observation and the utmost calm are the true source of seeing essence and mastering power."
That voice…
That singular cadence…
That teaching carried within…
Sui Meng's pupils jerked tight, as if struck by an unseen hammer.
His fingers clenched harder on the spear's metal haft, enough to draw a faint "groan" from the grip.
Disbelieving, he stared hard at the light-figure, as if to pry out a flaw.
After that single whisper, the figure began to walk toward him.
As the distance shrank, the outline and details sharpened with astonishing speed—clearer, more specific—
A pure-white, flawless, faintly luminescent Greek robe, draping with perfect grace over a tall, sacred form;
long hair, bright as flowing liquid gold, coiled with care at the back, showing a smooth, full brow and perfect facial lines;
and those eyes…
Those eyes brimming with endless wisdom and warlike edge, which now watched him in stillness—with a complex expression that mixed scrutiny, care, and even a touch of something ineffable.
In face, bearing, manner—down to the unique aura and energy ripple around her—even the subtlest, inimitable rhythm of life matched exactly the goddess who had taught and raised him—the embodiment of war and wisdom…
his mother, Athena.
This was not a simple illusion. It was a near-perfect "replica."
??!!
The sight—utterly beyond reason—made even Sui Meng's star-core-hard mind hesitate for the briefest flicker, not half a second.
A supernova of questions erupted in his head—
His mother's image?
How?
Why would she appear here?
Here, in an extragalactic system 2.5 million light-years away, deep under the crust of a hell-world, within a matrix steeped in strangeness and hostility?
Yet that fleeting sway—born of the deepest bond—was crushed at once by his will forged like Imperial steel and his warrior's instinct to the bone.
In a blink, all confusion was washed away by a tide of fury—and a killing intent cold to the marrow.
To use the dearest image he held, to play with the untouchable—this was more vicious, more unforgivable than any physical blow!
"Blasphemer! How dare you!!"
His roar—laden with savage psionics, as if to shatter souls—ripped the hush of the pocket void.
Sui Meng hesitated no more. Reason yielded wholly to boiling wrath!
His guandao-shaped power spear felt its master's boundless anger and erupted with a brilliance never seen before.
All his force—
the Primarch's might, the flood of psionics, the deepest wrath at defilement—poured into that one blow.
The spear became a shaft of daylight that split eternal night, faster than thought, bearing terror enough to unmake all things, and drove for the phantom "Athena."
This blow was born in fury—his full strength, not a shade held back, sworn to scrub from the universe the filth that dared profane his mother's sacred form!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOM—!!
A planet-crash roar detonated.
The strange space shuddered and keened under the unbeatable force.
A golden shockwave—centered where the spear struck—expanded like ripples of destruction, sweeping all.
Blaze bright enough to turn night to noon lit the endless dark in an instant.
Soon the storm of energy ebbed and dissipated.
At the blast's core the space lay wrenched and imperfectly healed—wrinkled like crumpled cloth.
There was nothing there. The lifelike phantom of "Athena" seemed gone in that wrathful strike—evaporated, not a grain of information left.
Sui Meng's chest rose slightly—not from energy spent…
Truth be told, that was nothing to him. The cause was the fury yet unspent, burning deep.
To wield kin as a glamour—this dug into a line that would not be crossed. It was more sickening than all blades piled together—unforgivable defilement.
His mother, the war goddess Athena—her holy countenance and majesty—must never be mimicked or soiled by any xenos or unknown thing!
Only the most thorough, most violent purgation could scour this sin.
But as he judged the filth cleansed, his sharp gaze swept the void for lingering threat—when the next chill shift came without warning.
The dark around him receded like a living tide. The space, disordered by the blast, steadied swiftly.
Before him the scene was almost the same as before his thunderstrike—as if time had reversed—or the devastation had been a perfect mirage.
In the air before him, faint grains of light rose again—ignoring physics—coalescing.
The robed, gold-haired, Athena-faced phantom formed once more—untouched.
"She" held that deep gaze—like a sea of stars—resting quietly on Sui Meng. On that flawless face was no anger or fear after such violence—only a…
deeper gravity—as if all past and future were already known—a perfect calm; and beneath it, if one looked close, perhaps a trace of sorrow too subtle to seize?
This time, "she" did not speak at once, nor hurry to explain; just stood, in absolute silence—challenging Sui Meng's reason, knowledge, and the reality he believed in, without a word but more aggressively still.
The repetition—so bizarre it defied common sense—made the air in this sealed blackness even heavier, more obscure.
"."
As Sui Meng gathered a greater force to grind the phantom to dust, "Athena" spoke first.
Her voice still held that unique blend of gentleness and majesty—but her words were like the sweetest poison threading the stillness:
"Child, I know your doubts—and your anger.
But I am not the false thing you imagine, nor a counterfeit image made in malice.
I am your heart's truest casting of the idea of 'mother,' the sum and expression of all your impressions of Athena in memory and feeling.
Here, in a haven far from strife and duty, you needn't pretend. You needn't bear heavy shackles."
Her words seemed to carry a curious magic—finding the innermost place:
"You can rest now, my child. You needn't bind yourself so sternly to that 'for humanity,' that 'humanity above all' your father preaches—those cold dogmas that smother your nature.
All that burden, all those wars, the sacrifices without end… are they truly worth it?"
The phantom drifted closer, extending a hand of light, palm open in invitation, her tone warm with temptation:
"If you will open your heart and accept our—no—accept 'mother's' ascension, you can cast all this off.
You will return to the purest peace, forever at mother's side, thinking no more of killing and tangled plans—merely a child, carefree, who need only chase play, joy, and laughter.
Is that not what life should be?"
"."
Sui Meng was silent. Under the helm, golden light flowed in his eyes—his thoughts unreadable.
He stood broad and high in the darkness, a mountain under storm, unmoved.
Seeing no immediate denial or strike, the phantom seemed to think her "words" had won a purchase. She continued, in motherly tones, to paint visions of quiet and peace—hoping to unmake steel will.
But the hush was not doubt. It was the deepest stillness before the gale.
Just as the phantom sensed her triumph, Sui Meng spoke. His voice was ice—contempt and murder unmasked:
"Heh. Xenos are xenos, trash always trash. Clumsy imitation will never touch a ten-thousandth of the essence."
The words threw the "Athena" phantom a half-beat off—fine loving calm crackling.
Sui Meng gave "her" no time.
"If you can read my memory—and spy the scenes in my mind—then you surely know my truest thought in this moment—
the utmost loathing of your profanation—and your utter destruction!"
?!
Surprise barely fixed on the phantom's face.
In the next instant Sui Meng loosed the fury and psionics boiling within.
Brighter than before—hotter—the golden fire burst skyward from him!
That flame stood for Sui Meng's unbreakable will, for absolute loyalty to the Emperor's cause, and the ultimate power to purge every blasphemy!
ROAR—!!!
The fire roared like a dragon—crashing with force to shatter falsehood and restore the real—hammering the invisible walls of the black space.
Crack—shatter—!!
The clean crackle of glass and the bass of space collapsing braided together.
Under that aimed strike—suffused with a Primarch's ruthless will—the dark prison dissolved like snow in sun.
Light straightened. False night fell away. The familiar vast hollow returned.
He still stood before the monstrous, uncanny matrix; around him, the cavern's grandeur and dead calm. The mental clash had been the flash of a moment.
"Sir!"
Almost at once, as his sense snapped back to the real, Wu Ji's voice—threaded with a trace of rare anxiety—came through the encrypted link:
"Your vitals and psionic field just showed a violent, brief anomaly. Are you alright? Do you require support?"
Sui Meng swept his surroundings quickly, confirming that he was free of the mind trap and that the matrix had no new moves.
He drew a long breath, banked the surging power, and answered steady:
"I'm fine, Wu Ji—merely a trifling mental interference."
Then his gaze returned to the great lattice, its sigils redly pulsing. His tone was iron:
"Moreover, I've confirmed it. Here—this matrix—is our target: the core of the silicon species that created the Markers."
He paused a beat, amended, a keen light in his eyes:
"Or rather, they… no—their collective consciousness—are not spread among the stars at all, but wholly holed up—parasitizing—inside this cold metal matrix. What I just experienced is one arm of their defense and seduction, the twin of how Markers beguile the sapient."
Silence held the far end of the channel—a breath, paying respect to the weight of that truth.
Sui Meng kept his eyes on the lattice. A new strategy had already formed.
How to pry open this "shell," wring every secret of the Marker's origin from within—and pass final judgment—would be the task ahead. And this planetary heart, quiet for a billion years, was about to feel the Empire's "iron fist."
______
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