Chapter 138: Dead Memories Are Attacking Me
"You are now in the Warp. That much is certain," Ramesses said, looking back at the Farseer. "And now, you are all my captured property. I will judge how you are to be treated based on your degree of cooperation."
"..."
Indeed, I am in the Warp. Without a physical body.
But his soul was not being siphoned. The intense feeling of heart-palpitations was, on the contrary, completely insulated here.
The Farseer carefully assessed his own state, and then, in a very risky move, tried to use a psychic prophecy to predict his own condition.
Complete.
Whole and undamaged.
This was a stunning conclusion. If the Farseer wasn't so confident in his own Path, he would have thought the Lord of Change was playing a trick on him. He even felt that if he could get to Commorragh and have a Haemonculus make him a new body, he could be directly resurrected.
The Farseer steeled himself and, on a whim, initiated a small prophecy aimed at Ramesses.
He saw nothing.
The threads of fate of every being in the galaxy existed in the Warp. Even the great ancient enemies who slept in their tombs were no exception. The various Craftworlds had often used prophecy to find those tomb worlds and had sent assassins to make the dynasties' masters sleep forever.
The Farseer looked at Ramesses with a new reverence, the arrogance he held for the younger race dissipating into thin air.
This is not a person.
"Lord of Change?" the Farseer asked, having already determined that this being was not a daemon.
Whether it was arrogance or confidence, at the very least, the Farseer believed that, with the exception of the daemons of the Slaaneshi lineage, not even Kairos could stand before him without a single flaw. It was one thing for Arthur to beat him like he was killing a chicken; that was a true surprise attack where he hadn't been able to use any of his skills.
'The Lord of Change is still busy attacking my park. If this place gets wiped out by a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch, you'll get to meet him,' Ramesses thought to himself. He couldn't be bothered to explain his identity. Let the other guy guess.
"Who I am is not important. What is important is that I need you to serve me," he said. "Out of a certain interest I have in you personally, I can give you a choice. You can also refuse, but believe me, the ending will be the one you least want to accept."
"Only me?" The Farseer looked around. The souls of his kinsmen were still frozen. He felt that these kinsmen were real, but he still needed to verify it later.
"Them too," Ramesses said magnanimously. The Eldar population was truly small. An entire fleet, including the ground combat personnel, was only about ten thousand. It was no problem to cover them all.
"The Drukhari are an exception. And a few other unlucky ones as well." If his other three partners had killed them in a frontal assault, that was just their bad luck. The abilities of the four of them did not interfere with each other, so Ramesses couldn't just snatch people from under his partners' noses without a word. The Craftworld Eldar, at the very least, had some decent people among them. Even the Emperor was willing to be friends with some of them.
But the Drukhari were on another level. The only difference between them and the daemons of Slaanesh was that they weren't daemons of Slaanesh. The very existence of those things was a constant source of power for Slaanesh. It was best for them to be completely wiped out.
"What do you require?" the Farseer immediately asked.
"I liked you better when you were bravely defiant in the face of Slaanesh," Ramesses said with a laugh, unable to resist a bit of teasing.
The Farseer did not reply. If a being who was, at the very least, a demigod, was willing to protect them, then it was an honor for their race. Even if he had a request, they would have to see what that request was.
Seeing this, Ramesses also stopped teasing. This before-and-after performance was indeed laughable, but as a qualified politician who could lead a race, this was indeed how he should behave. To die and not fall into the hands of Slaanesh was the best possible ending. Even with that realization, fear was still fear. The rest was unthinkable.
"I need you, and all of you, to share with me everything about the Eldar."
"Where shall we begin?"
A smart one. If he had dared to argue, with Ramesses's temper, he would have just thrown him to the Slaaneshi daemons first. You dare to talk back to your master now? And you expect him to work for you?
"Let's start with the Path of the Farseer, and your Eldar's application of technology," Ramesses said, swiping on the panel Romulus had helped him program. A set of indicators was projected before the Farseer.
"The other Eldar members will be the same. First, share their own Path, then the technology they have each mastered, and then your culture and history. All the Eldar who have entered this domain will be under your communication and management. I will periodically issue tasks. After the indicators are met, you may do as you please."
"I understand." The Farseer nodded, indicating he was clear. While marveling at this being's tolerance, he also wondered if this being did not understand psychic power. But recalling the way he had killed his kinsmen, the Farseer slowly shook his head. He should be very knowledgeable about the way daemons use psychic power. This meant that the other party should be a native of the Warp.
Is he trying to learn how to use psychic power in the physical universe? What for?
The Farseer was extremely surprised. The Eldar's application of psychic power was indeed extraordinary, revered as a miracle by countless races of the material universe. But a being of the Warp should have no need to care about this.
A series of questions wrapped around his mind. The Farseer vaguely guessed something. But to be honest, he really didn't want to admit the answer that made him so incredibly jealous just by thinking about it.
"Then let's leave it at that for now," Ramesses said, turning his head. "Your kinsmen have arrived. They will clash with the weapons of the barbarians in your eyes, and then head for destruction."
"...Understood." The Farseer did not say much more. He still couldn't get a read on this god's temperament. He could only respond with obedience for now.
"The contract still stands. I protect your souls, and you serve me. It's that simple."
Seeing this, Ramesses said no more. With a flicker of his form, his consciousness returned to the real universe. The real universe was still waiting for him to stir up trouble.
By the time Ramesses and Arthur had cleared an Eldar ship, the Dawnlight had already returned to the vicinity of the Mandeville Point.
The fleets of the three factions had been mixed together in the back-and-forth fighting.
And a few light-seconds away, from a Webway gate hidden in an asteroid, a fleet of Eldar, arranged in battle formation, was emerging. As the star at the center of the system projected a brilliant stream of particles, their solar sails refracted the light, bathing the long, graceful warships in a magnificent sea of light.
At the same instant, the veil of the Mandeville Point was torn open by a massive amount of energy. A massive main fleet, led by two Gloriana-class battleships, emerged.
The Claw of Law, with a small contingent of troops, quickly intercepted the Eldar reinforcements. That seemingly small fleet was actually a battle group composed of a Gloriana-class and six battleships, like a natural chasm lying before the Eldar ships.
And the Eternal Crusader, with the main force, went straight for the Iron Warriors' fleet, its fervent roar echoing through the cosmos via astrotelepathy. The sound pierced through the veil of the void, through the steel that protected the traitors, and echoed in the ears of all living beings.
"Iron decays! The Stone endures!"
(End of Chapter)