Chronosia
20-08-2006, 03:04
He was alone.
Truly alone, even amongst his soldiers and his acolytes. Alone, seperated from his Master and his Family, neither of whom could truly be trusted. Even Remiel intended him as little more than a living weapon. He giggled softly, within his sancum nothing could hurt him...Nothing. A gauntleted hand brushed over the immense machinery, tended by those loyal Dark Mechanicus who abided by his tortured, insane rule. This world was a backwater, an ancient site of unknowable power, and that was where he had forged his covenant.
The temple was an immense pyramid of wrought black stone, forged by the death and toil of countless slaves. Even Chronos' own Sith had been forced to labor, to forge this immense edifice of his power, built upon the ruins of far older cultures. Once complete, Chronos had duelled each of his apprentices, till only a handful survived, secreting himself and the remains within the immense complex.
Hands worked feverishly over flesh, tending to stitches and cauterised wounds. He felt sweat stain ever fibre of his being, felt his body weaken as his maddened mind pushed him to greater lengths of endurance. The immense tanks were ready, the apparatus all but assembled...All that remained, was the bodies.
Finally, each perfect corpse, numbering two, was placed in its chamber, a vat filled with a liquid nutrient solution, their heads strapped into complex computer simulation equipment. He turned to a vast desk, strewn with supplies and ingredients, tossing various herbs and materials into the crackling heat of a brazier. Neither technology nor thaumaturgy, not the heights of science nor the depths of sorcery had brought him victory....Now, both would meet, merge, mingle, and he would be avenged...He and the fruits of his labor...The sons of his own hand.
Switches were flicked, invocations whispered by the Sith alchemists who had gathered around him, as he himself led the chant. His voice rose, winds whipping it up to a fevered scream of blackest rites. Energy crackled and danced about the immense generators, the sky itself seemed to quake with static at the power, both natural and unnatural that was here being invoked. He let his own, darkest, power fuel the trembling strands of reality, let his might tear the very heavens asunder, lightning spilled forth from his fingertips, quaking across his body, feeding his determination as it skittered forth to envelop the dormant coffins of metal and quivering bio-mass. The power of the generators surged forth in an arcing wave of raw energy, surging across the very fabric of the laboratory, his will made manifest by the power of the ancient Sith Alchemy he had invoked, and all the hated bastard rites he had invoked, calling upon any power that would grant him his wish.
The generators sparked, surging out of control, the wind howled as a sandstorm enveloped them, nature reeling from the consequences of unholy, unfathomed acts. And all fell silent, save for Chronos' labored breathing...
And the thudding of something against cold metal.
Chronos laughed, falling to his knees, tears spilling across his face. "My sons..." He whispered. "My sons, returned to me...Janus....Jesse..." He chuckled, giggling almost maniacally. "You will help me have my vengence...My sons..."
Truly alone, even amongst his soldiers and his acolytes. Alone, seperated from his Master and his Family, neither of whom could truly be trusted. Even Remiel intended him as little more than a living weapon. He giggled softly, within his sancum nothing could hurt him...Nothing. A gauntleted hand brushed over the immense machinery, tended by those loyal Dark Mechanicus who abided by his tortured, insane rule. This world was a backwater, an ancient site of unknowable power, and that was where he had forged his covenant.
The temple was an immense pyramid of wrought black stone, forged by the death and toil of countless slaves. Even Chronos' own Sith had been forced to labor, to forge this immense edifice of his power, built upon the ruins of far older cultures. Once complete, Chronos had duelled each of his apprentices, till only a handful survived, secreting himself and the remains within the immense complex.
Hands worked feverishly over flesh, tending to stitches and cauterised wounds. He felt sweat stain ever fibre of his being, felt his body weaken as his maddened mind pushed him to greater lengths of endurance. The immense tanks were ready, the apparatus all but assembled...All that remained, was the bodies.
Finally, each perfect corpse, numbering two, was placed in its chamber, a vat filled with a liquid nutrient solution, their heads strapped into complex computer simulation equipment. He turned to a vast desk, strewn with supplies and ingredients, tossing various herbs and materials into the crackling heat of a brazier. Neither technology nor thaumaturgy, not the heights of science nor the depths of sorcery had brought him victory....Now, both would meet, merge, mingle, and he would be avenged...He and the fruits of his labor...The sons of his own hand.
Switches were flicked, invocations whispered by the Sith alchemists who had gathered around him, as he himself led the chant. His voice rose, winds whipping it up to a fevered scream of blackest rites. Energy crackled and danced about the immense generators, the sky itself seemed to quake with static at the power, both natural and unnatural that was here being invoked. He let his own, darkest, power fuel the trembling strands of reality, let his might tear the very heavens asunder, lightning spilled forth from his fingertips, quaking across his body, feeding his determination as it skittered forth to envelop the dormant coffins of metal and quivering bio-mass. The power of the generators surged forth in an arcing wave of raw energy, surging across the very fabric of the laboratory, his will made manifest by the power of the ancient Sith Alchemy he had invoked, and all the hated bastard rites he had invoked, calling upon any power that would grant him his wish.
The generators sparked, surging out of control, the wind howled as a sandstorm enveloped them, nature reeling from the consequences of unholy, unfathomed acts. And all fell silent, save for Chronos' labored breathing...
And the thudding of something against cold metal.
Chronos laughed, falling to his knees, tears spilling across his face. "My sons..." He whispered. "My sons, returned to me...Janus....Jesse..." He chuckled, giggling almost maniacally. "You will help me have my vengence...My sons..."