Herald of the Stars: Chapter Three Hundred and Twelve

I set aside Warlock Pacts and You, letting the book float beside me, and read the introduction to Soul Cultivation for Paranoid Weebs.

The second book is all new knowledge. I like getting rewarded for efforts yet a glance at the endless sand dunes populating my soulscape makes me wince. I can’t help but feel I get singled out when it comes to saving the galaxy. 

Then again, unlike most Imperial Heroes, I have survived my beatings. I’m also the one who declared before his officers, the Inquisition, Imperial Navy, Astartes, Sororitas, and Navis Nobilis that I want to restore humanity one happy moment at a time.

No, that’s not a euphemism.

I may live in this wretched galaxy, but I am the one who chose to step up and try to make the galaxy a better place. No one is forcing me to do this. At this point, it's my own damned pride, spite, fear and guilt that keeps me going. There is no noble cause. At least, not anymore.

The second book teaches how to use my snake mutation to feed on souls as a particularly nasty, touch based spell, all without chowing down everyone else around me by accident, or pushing my allies' bodies from their souls. Reading further hints that this is a near instinctual spell and a direct reason for my mutation. It’s linked to being a Soulphage, not a Navigator. 

This information is both a surprise and somehow not. I just never put the pieces together myself because I haven’t been in any melee fights since I got the snakes. I also lobotomised the snakes because they weren’t directly controllable and liked to ‘halp’. 

Had I left them alone they might have already shown me what they were for beyond dismantling everything around me. Apparently, I should get far more bang for my kill too if I feed off a sentient via the snakes. It will have an even greater return than the Warp Tap. Perfect for crown kills.

The book’s second section contains a machine to flesh transmutation spell. So long as I use the spell, I can turn the snakes back into mechadendrites, ridding myself of the ugly blighters. It’s not permanent and will revert the moment I stop channelling the warp. I can also pull the same trick with my third eye, or even remove all my implants and restore my flesh. 

It will feel good to pretend to be Human again after all this time. I’d still be a Navigator and a Psyker underneath, but it is handy to be able to hide those signs if I need to. The word mutant tends to bring out the worst behavior in the sweetest of Imperial citizens. Even my own people are a bit twitchy about it, though they tend to grab an arc maul then rush the ‘patient’ to the appropriate vat on the medicae deck.

The spell counts as soul magic because it’s about making my body mimic my soul and the soul is mutable; my soul looks like what I want it to look like.

The last piece of information in Soul Cultivation for Paranoid Weebs is, to my eternal shock, is not too far off what the title declares. There’s no layers of cultivation, path to divinity, or anything else equally ridiculous. The methods within are the spells and exercises required to compress and harden my soul; should I end up as a conduit for deific energies a third time I won’t take so much damage.

The Daemon, however, is in the details. The more I compress my soul, the more powerful it becomes and thus the easier it is to find. It would be like going from a Tau Fire Warrior to an Eldar Farseer. The difference is significant. Using these compression techniques would increase the power of my spells and how difficult it is to counter or resist them. In exchange, I would need a lot more practice to cast them as well as increase the risk of destroying anything around me with a stray thought. 

There’s also a chance of going mad as the stronger the psyker you are the crazier you get. There are exceptions though, the Emperor being one of them.

While there is no limit to how much I can concentrate my soul, if I take it too far, my body won’t be able to take the strain and will crumble to dust, turning me into a Warp entity. That would cut me off from E-SIM, ruin my marriage, and cause all sorts of other problems, so there is a practical limit to how far I can take the technique. The transmutation spell can’t help if I have no body to transmute.

I believe that this soul compression method has much in common with how the Emperor created the Star Child. 

The books do provide a viable alternative to machine or biological supremacy, should I get desperate. It might even save my life if I get vapourised by a Drukhari Void Lance or Eldar D-Cannon, though I remain unsure if a more solid soul will save me from being disintegrated by the energies of the dying Webway, or yeeted to another dimension. 

I can prepare a spare body for my soul and bind it to me like I will need to bind Alis, then resurrect myself if needed. I suspect that the process is similar to one of the upgrades I’ve been eyeing on E-SIMs list of technological miracles, but cheaper and less idiot proof.

The Emperor, as always, has thought of everything, providing the STC for a psychic inhibitor far more powerful and flexible than the ones I can manufacture. It is both a limiter and a metaphorical set of training wheels that I can adjust as I need to prevent any accidents. 

The Psykers in the Stellar Fleet will benefit from the STC too. I could also share the soul compression technique with Alpia, though I am uncertain if that is a good idea. Alpia is remarkably stable for a powerful psyker, but I have no way of knowing if that will remain the case if her power jumps another magnitude. It’s not like the process is risk free for me either so I need to be careful about how far I take it. That I will risk the method myself is not in doubt. I am fed up with having my soul messed with and this ridiculously named ‘Cultivation Technique’, for me, is a choice of survival or eternal torment.

I am pleased with these gifts. The Emperor, however, makes gratitude a difficult task. Not only has my soul been flayed to the bedrock, I know I’ve been played.

It took me a shameful number of compressed hours in my own head to work it out. 

E-SIM has been bound and drained by the Emperor for millennia. The ancient Data Guardian was always going to seek a method to free and fix itself. By cutting out the infected parts of his ship and replacing them with a new structure, E-SIM could avoid having his repair mechanisms constantly turned upon himself and remove the Emperor’s energy tap. To do so, he needed to seek a damaged research grade STC for its materials. 

Sure, E-SIM could have risked cutting up a Space Hulk, but that is dangerous and his vessel would be weakened for a long time if he just cut out a big chunk of himself and had no spare parts available. Manufacture them in advance? That wouldn’t work either. E-SIM was already compromised and thus new parts could be too. 

E-SIM was the machine built from the bones and knowledge of the research grade STC. Compatibility was near certain and he might get new technology out of it, or swipe a psy-lance or two. Locating and using it was the most logical solution.

E-SIM waited until I was in position to help him. However, the STC wasn’t what E-SIM thought it was, which, in hindsight, is no surprise as the Emperor was in his systems. 

Birdbrain had to respond to E-SIM because an accidental revival of the STC would be catastrophic for Him as a restored research grade STC would mean that Change, as a concept, would no longer flow just from Birdbrain. 

For Birdbrain, it was the equivalent of having one of His divine authorities stolen from under His nose by an ancient machine that had the capacity to not only kill Him, but everything else in the Materium and Immaterium. Bad news for everyone, really.

Birdbrain turned up, the Star Child closed His trap and stole Birdbrain’s Change concept anyway, then used it to integrate Human Progress, for an extra slap in the face. Birdbrain’s ‘allies’ took a chance to take Him down a peg as well. 

The Machine-God was probably there to ensure the STC didn’t pull off some trick and kill us all.

Me? I was the witness to the greatest victory Humanity has had in 10,000 years. The catalyst, even, if I’m feeling generous. 

Unwitting fool or collateral damage if I want to be accurate.

Despite my hatred at being a pawn in the game of gods, I can’t help but feel admiration for the Emperor. It was an excellent play.

With a long sigh I conjure a satchel and place the two books inside it, then head to where the replica of my old house used to be.

It’s just sand.

There are no lurking foundations, stubs of wood, or stray cracked bricks. Everything is gone. So are fragmented manifestations of Sasha, Jamie, Gemma.

The tree where I buried the dead and repaired my soul is no more.

There are no children playing in the halls, their memories warming my home with their laughter.

A facsimile of Brigid does not greet me with a smile.

I stand in the middle of nothing and feel nothing, knowing that something is wrong but unable to identify it. The thought is right there at the back of my mind but the connection refuses to form. I know I am missing something obvious, yet the only emotion I feel is vague annoyance.

I hear cheering from the beach and look back at Alis. She has conjured a fishing rod and reeled in a Daemon and is stomping on it with great relish, sending gore everywhere that dissolves into rainbow smoke that soaks into the sand.

I gawp. That’s an option?! Just fish a Daemon from the Warp and enjoy a little eldritch sashimi? Why did I never think of this? Probably because it is incredibly dangerous and if I gave it a go I’d likely attract some elder entity from the twilight zone.

“Get over here Alis and stop fooling about. There’s no telling what you might pull up and I don’t want to get dragged down with you!”

Alis gives the Daemon a final stomp then kicks its mangled body back into the Warp. She drops the fishing rod and it disappears in a flash of iridescent motes when it hits the sand. 

Alis rushes over, “You called, Lord?”

“No more fishing.”

“Yes, Lord Captain,” says Alis, her posture stiffening.

I point at where the house used to stand, “Do you see anything unusual here? What do you feel?

“I feel sad, Lord. I liked that house. I had fun there. Annoyed too. Only noble berks get to have fun. That house made me feel special.” Alis clears her throat and flushes, “No slight on present company, Lord.”

“Never mind that. Sad. I should feel that. Devastated even. The final emotions to my old life have returned to dust. No wonder I couldn’t remember enjoying the books you’ve been reading. Why am I thinking about books? Should family not matter more?”

I stare at the empty patch of sand again.

“That’s bad, right?” says Alis.

I hum, “The worst.”

“What did you do?”

“I saved the galaxy and all it cost me was love.”

“Huh. That a metaphor or something?”

“No. My worldly connections are gone. My heart is dead. I feel nothing. I can’t even get angry about what I’ve lost because I no longer know what I have.”

“Can you try again?”

“I can. For the living at least.”

Alis hums, “You can fall in love with your wife all over again. Kinda romantic don’t you think?”

I bark a laugh, “Maybe.”

“Better not tell her that though. Your daughter and sons too.”

“If you’re going to be so eager to dispense unneeded advice you can be my wingwoman instead.”

“Er, I’m not comfortable with that, Lord. Really not my style.”

“Not in that way. Brigid would send you right back here you tried. The Emperor has sent a gift.” I pat the satchel hanging at my side. “The moment the Stellar Fleet reaches Port Wander I’m resurrecting you. You’re going to be my wife’s new personal bodyguard.”

Alis mutters, “Like that makes any more sense.”

“You’ll get the training, tools, and body that you need. I think giving my wife a body guard that I can repeatedly resurrect is a good start in showing my affections. What do you think?”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“You do not.”

“Then I have no opinion on the matter. Obviously.”

“Good choice.”

Your lessons suck, Big E.