Through direct cellular recombination, Nyx had successfully granted new life to his mutation‑afflicted sons, and completely eradicated every visible heretical trait within the XI Legion. The Emperor could not remedy the genetic mutation — but Nyx could.
Today, the Legion's attitude toward Nyx could be summed up thus: I love my father, and my father loves me.
Having settled into the Legion, Nyx began systematically studying all aspects of his domain. The first thing to catch his attention was his sons' names — nearly half bore appellations intimately connected to the concept of 'patricide'.
Father‑killer, adoptive‑father‑slayer, stepfather‑vanquisher, god‑father‑executioner... All manner of names encompassing almost every variation Nyx knew. The remaining names he also strongly suspected — he simply didn't recognise them, and thus they fell outside his 'Patricide Army' catalogue.
Every time he contemplated these names, Nyx experienced an indescribable subtlety. Yet these sons were utterly ignorant of their names' significance. All Nyx perceived in their eyes was fervent loyalty and profound father‑son love.
(Horus: I was exactly like this before the Four Gods turned me into feathers.)
Subsequently, Nyx turned his attention to the Legion's tactical doctrine. The XI Legion possessed a unique talent for bio‑informatics collection and analysis.
They could rapidly analyse a target's genetic sequence and physiological weaknesses — by acquiring biological tissue samples or conducting live dissections — and devise correspondingly targeted tactics. The Legion's arsenal was equipped with a vast quantity of specially engineered viral weaponry, capable of delivering precise genetic strikes against specific biological populations.
Furthermore, Nyx discovered that the Legion's armoury contained a substantial inventory of weapons and equipment modified from xenos wetware components. Such creations were, by Imperial doctrine, unquestionably and overtly heretical. Nyx himself, however, greatly appreciated them.
He displayed considerable tolerance toward his gene‑seed inheritors: Biological experiments? No problem. Wetware weaponry? Highly creative. Genetic modification? Hm... somewhat heretical, but simply submit them to him for review.
In Nyx's view, these 'innovations' his sons enthusiastically pursued were precisely what he had long since played out. Even the future 'old Chinese medicine' Fabius Bile could, before Nyx, be considered only a loli.
New humans? Proto‑clones?
Please. Don't bring such crude work to my attention, alright? I'll sue you for plagiarism.
Who could be more 'heretical' than Nyx himself? Were it not for the Imperium's current circumstances, he might genuinely attempt to realise the 'Great Horned Rat' concept — of course, he had no intention of seeking a father for himself. He simply wanted to create a rat‑girl Dark God for entertainment.
Compared to awaiting the birth of the Eldar gods at the cost of annihilation, he deemed this plan far more efficient. As for the Dark Prince? That was just a signboard to pawn off.
Those days within the Legion, Nyx spent excellently. His daily routine consisted of little more than approving the biological experiment applications submitted by his sons, or mediating the 'friendly discussions' between veterans of other Legions — provoked by his own warriors' incessant bragging.
Such ostentatious behaviour was not difficult to comprehend. If, according to the original timeline, it would take at least eight or ten years for other Legions to reunite with their Primarchs — by which time the XI Legion would likely have cornered the market on every conceivable accolade.
"Father. The Emperor summons you."
First Captain Arthas's voice recalled Nyx's wandering thoughts. At this moment, he was engrossed in installing a custom Navigator core aboard his flagship, the Queen of Glory.
This majestic battle‑barge had been christened Typhon by Nyx — after the father of all monsters in Greek mythology, also known as Typhon. The name carried his aspiration: to symbolise the XI Legion's philosophy of embracing all living things.
This was decidedly not a prophecy that he would, through biological experimentation, spawn a host of alien creatures.
The Navigator core he was installing was, in truth, an artificial intelligence. Though AI was strictly proscribed within the Imperium, Nyx did not hesitate to commence construction.
In his view, a warship of such power was a criminal waste if not equipped with AI. Given his technical expertise, he need not concern himself with the risks of electronic daemon corrosion or abominable intelligence rebellion.
The navigational AI Nyx created incorporated a unique technical conception — truly a singular achievement. He had abandoned the image of the colossal metal skull from the Space King, adopting instead a feminine projection modelled after the Living Saint Celestine as its interactive interface.
As for whether this was heretical? If anyone had doubts, they should first examine themselves. And if anyone attempted to denounce him directly before the Throne... they would be well advised to prepare for the Legion to hunt them down with extreme prejudice.
Nyx himself might not be held accountable for this, but the informant's fate would most likely be ruled a 'suicide' after being perforated by bolt‑rounds.
Nyx had anticipated the Emperor's summons. After all, he had been with his Legion for nearly half a month, and in that time, he had not even begun producing Saint Eggs. Given the Emperor's temperament, he had likely been observing for quite some time.
Sigh. I really don't want to leave. Who would think of work if they could spend their days with their own Legion?
Though such thoughts ran through his mind, Nyx dared not truly defy the Emperor's command — otherwise, his personally crafted artificial intelligence, installed in the Legion over the past several days, would certainly face harsh scrutiny.
With this in mind, Nyx reluctantly made his way to the throne room, his expression carefully blank.
Having spent the better part of a day in unhurried haste, Nyx finally arrived at the Palace. The Emperor, Malcador, and Curze — whom he had not seen for many days — were all waiting there. The moment they met, Nyx hailed Curze:
"Hey, Curze! How's the VIII Legion?"
"Not ideal..." Curze glanced back, residual dejection in his voice. "Most of the soldiers are reformed Imperial penitentiary inmates or prison guards."
He was helpless before these 'crooked melons and split dates' the Emperor had stuffed him with. Though they had escaped the fate of the original problematic sons, the Eighth still had far too few currently useful personnel.
"Ahem——!"
Malcador coughed lightly, redirecting the pair's attention. Conversing amongst themselves before the Emperor — were they taking no one else seriously?
"What's the matter, Old Nag? Trachea giving out from old age?" Nyx opened his mouth and finished, completely disregarding Malcador's face, which had flushed to the colour of pork liver.
"Need me to contact a Mechanicum adept to get you a new one?"
Another sentence nearly choked Malcador. Had the Emperor not been present, he would likely have used his psychic power to expel Nyx on the spot.
"I summoned you today to convey an important matter."
The Emperor's majestic voice cut through Nyx's digressions.
"The Great Crusade is about to recommence. Curze, you shall accompany me this time. As for you, Nyx..." The Emperor's gaze rested upon him. "It is time to fulfil your promise."
"Ah... The Saint Eggs, right. Fine, fine — but first, I need to complete Saint Egg implantation for all members of the XI Legion." Nyx stated his condition.
The Emperor was inclined to refuse — the XI Legion was not a primary combat force. But seeing the look in Nyx's eyes that clearly said 'no deal', he ultimately conceded:
"Agreed. But the Saint Eggs must be produced while participating in the Great Crusade."
Originally, the Emperor had planned to leave Nyx on Terra. But he remembered his 'discipline' skills... It was safer to keep him close.
After all, no one could say whether the Imperium would have become a 'Rat Empire' upon his return.