The City of the Holy Anthem, Conmo Dynasty Secret Chamber.
Inside the mirror, the phantom projection of Aetaos'rau'keres practically filled the entire frame.
Its deep blue scales and feathers shimmered with a mutating purple light, the three pairs of eyes on its avian head all locked onto Sacken.
"What are you still hesitating for, Sacken Alar?"
The Greater Daemon's voice layered a thousand whispers into one, overflowing with the temptation of knowledge and the mockery of fate.
"Eighty years ago, Ferrus Manus descended upon Aurelian. Your family was branded as heretics because of a dream involving the service of the Plague Father. Your parents were blown to pieces by bolter fire. Your brothers and sisters were packed onto the Black Ships, where Imperial psykers drained every last drop of their power before tossing their withered husks into the reclamation vats to be rendered into corpse-wax and fertilizer."
"Because you were so young, your name had never been recorded in the family registries. You were spirited away by a servant early on, fleeing into the wastelands and miraculously surviving. You lived incognito ever since, only resurfacing after your psychic talents awakened. It was I who granted you a lifespan beyond that of a mere mortal. It was I who helped you masquerade as the then-weak Garrison Conmo... This is the power of knowledge and change. This is the blessing of the Changer of Ways."
Aetaos tilted its head, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.
"Is your stubborn adherence to the past all these years due to that fleeting romance with an Underhive woman? Give it up! After all these years, she's likely long dead, and there's no way she could have borne a scion of House Alar. You haven't been able to find her in all this time, have you? Your hatred for the extermination of your family has never faded. You need to grow stronger. You need the hope that the Changer of Ways offers you. Only the Changer of Ways can grant you the power you need to exact your revenge."
Sacken's body trembled.
Deep within his pupils, pale purple psychic light began to flicker. The old scar on his left cheek—a memento from a piece of flying shrapnel that struck his young face while fleeing his family's destruction—began to writhe and burn.
"Even though the one who arrived today is not Ferrus of the Iron Hands..." Aetaos's voice dropped into a serpentine hiss. "...Sanguinius, the Imperium of Man, the Ninth Primarch, the Great Angel of the Imperium... is there truly any difference between him and Ferrus?"
The image in the mirror shifted.
It displayed the scene of Sanguinius in the Governor's Palace conference room. It captured his gentle yet unquestionable tone. His gaze that looked down upon them as if they were mere mortals. His command granting them exactly three days to uncover the truth...
How terrifyingly similar it was to the words Ferrus Manus had spoken to the royal House Blaec eighty years ago:
Submit, or be destroyed.
"Look at him," Aetaos chuckled softly. "The Primarchs are all the same. In their eyes, there is only the territory of the Imperium, the will of the Emperor, the glory of the Great Crusade... The suffering of mortals? The survival or destruction of a family? Merely statistics on a ledger."
Sacken's breathing grew increasingly ragged.
Memories flooded back like a tidal wave.
He remembered the servant, dying of radiation sickness, whispering with his final breath: Live, child. Do not forget... the vengeance of our House.
That was the exact moment his psychic powers had awakened, and Aetaos had found him in the mirror.
He had struck a bargain with this Aetaos, who claimed to be an emissary of the Changer of Ways, but he had never agreed to fully surrender himself to corruption.
Aetaos didn't seem to care. In its own words, it had all the time in the world to wait for Sacken to willingly throw himself into the embrace of Tzeentch.
He had then taken on the identity of Garrison Conmo, eking out a pathetic existence right in the heart of his enemies' stronghold.
Every single day, he wore a mask, forcing smiles for the Hysman Merchant Guild, the Mechanicus, and everyone else who had sold his family out.
Aside from that chance encounter with the Underhive woman, in the dead of night, he would always be alone, tracing the scar on his left cheek, feeling the bone-deep agony of his bloodline and his family.
"Join us, Sacken," Aetaos spread its wings, and the reflection in the mirror transformed into a dazzling, infinite sea of purple stars. "The Changer of Ways grants you true knowledge. The fundamental nature of psychic power. The profound mysteries of the Warp. The methods to manipulate the threads of fate... You will gain power—power enough to take your revenge upon a Primarch. You will see the truth—the truth about the Emperor, about the Great Crusade, and about the cruel, laughable nature of this universe."
Sacken raised his head.
His eyes had turned entirely pale purple. Reflected in his pupils was the infinite, mutating madness of Tzeentch's domain.
The scar on his left cheek split wide open, but it wasn't blood that flowed out—it was a mass of fine, writhing purple psychic tendrils.
"I..." His voice was hoarse, but it steadily grew resolute. "I have had enough of hiding. Enough of living like a rat in the world of my enemies. Enough of... waking up every day and telling myself that I am Garrison Conmo."
Sacken took a step forward, pressing his fingers against the glass.
The mirror rippled like water, and the phantom projection of Aetaos began to overlap with his physical body.
"Knowledge... I thirst for the knowledge that will make me stronger. Change... I embrace the change that will shatter my current reality. Revenge... I demand the power to enact my vengeance."
Three sentences. Three vows.
The mirror shattered with a deafening crash!
The shards didn't fly outward; instead, they dissolved into countless motes of purple light that surged directly into Sacken's body.
His physical form began to mutate grotesquely. Scale-like patterns erupted across his skin. Two massive bulges pushed outward from his back. His fingers elongated, sprouting additional joints...
Aetaos's laughter echoed through the secret chamber.
"Welcome to the fold, Sacken Alar. From this day forth, you are no longer a wretched orphan clinging to survival. You are a disciple of the Changer of Ways. A harbinger of His schemes. You are..." The Greater Daemon's voice deepened into solemnity. "...a pruner of the Tapestry of Fate."
The blinding purple light completely engulfed Sacken.
When the light faded, the being standing in the center of the room was no longer Garrison Conmo.
It was a creature standing two point three meters tall, its skin covered in pale purple chitin.
Two pairs of semi-transparent, psychic wings sprouted from its back. Its face retained human features, but its eyes had morphed completely into swirling purple vortexes. It was... a Chaos Sorcerer.
Sacken raised his hand, staring at the rune of Tzeentch manifesting on his palm. He felt the sheer, surging torrent of psychic power within him—a power that vastly eclipsed the Gamma tier.
He smiled, his features twisting into an expression of sheer, unhinged madness.
"Sanguinius... You want us to investigate the Imperial Angels' robbery? Fine. I will give you an answer... one that is both spectacular and agonizing."
--
Goal = 500 Powerstones.
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