divinituscaptivus

[divinituscaptivus]

[✨] Emperor of mankind

Extra bonus of Primarchs in my style now the Emperor in my style!

This man... Makes me feel like I have Daddy Issues

💕✨

[divinituscaptivus]

God-Emperor on the Golden Throne by Bart761

[divinituscaptivus]

Though he treaded carefully, he could not avoid every sharpened cracked stone. The two left a trail of footprints slicked in blood in the obsidian plains of Terra. The harsh light of Sol began to fade into ash-choked clouds as one of many miserable days wandering the wastes drew to a close. By the time the deathless tyrant and his attendant reached her sanctuary, Luna's light danced along the sky. What Kusig Alad entered was less an entryway into a grand archive and more a fracture in the flame-kissed cliffs. Within laid twisted and broken pillars, melted ceilings, and strewn debris that made the cavernous halls appear as the trachea of some collossal beast. The deeper they went, however, the more these halls resembled civilization as the Former Emperor once knew it. These halls were his, an extension of the once continent-sized Palace dedicated to the preservation of all human knowledge. Much of what remained was buried beneath mountains of stone, a testament to the destructive power of the device he'd had embedded into the Throne before his duel.

He was led to a set of double-doors twice his size, each door bearing two handles; one for a mortal and the other for something of his stature. The room that laid within was lit by candlelight and smelled of old incense, a far cry from the ash and glass above them.

Wordlessly, the former Emperor accepted the bundle of curtains, one nearly as large as the little keeper herself. He wasted no time hiding his shame from her, wrapping the cloth around his chest and waist in a way that resembled something of a makeshift toga. "Here," He motioned to her.

"Your feet. Allow me."

A small, unassuming figure in grey, hooded robes steps out of the shadows, hesitant and almost... scared? No, not scared. Disbelieving. They step forward out of the dust, out of the dark, carefully reaching up to pull their hood down, revealing an androgynous face, bald save for brown eyebrows. Grey eyes stare in a face set with pure awe and disbelief. "... Sire?" the voice is feminine and full of cracked hope. -imperialarchive

The ancient recognizes the voice of his treasured archivist almost immediately. He had wandered the desolate, scorched plains of Terra for days, certain that whatever life existed on his world had been scoured from it in the aftermath of his violent rebirth. Yet here was the impossible, standing right before him.

The Emperor she knew came before her a shadow of his former glory. Nothing hid his nakedness from her, body or soul. His unclothed form had been marred by the scars of his last great battle; silvery lacerations on his chest, and arm, his neck and half his face coated in a layer of ropy flesh. One eye had gone milky white, save for the faintest outline of golden irises. This was no Emperor, no gilded protector-god of the human race. This was an enormous, but fundamentally broken man.

"You...." He thought, not realizing he said the word with his lips instead of his mind.

[divinituscaptivus]

The real story behind the Terminus Decree

[divinituscaptivus]

He could feel it, the madness, the agony. It was overwhelming, not just from his treasured achivist, but from every star. It bled like billions of lacerations. His people were like animals in traps, desperate to gnaw off their own legs if only to escape. The ancient tyrant held his temples, trying, trying to blink away the pain that was not his. He had companionship, but never felt more alone. She could not know what it was to be him, to live in madness itself, a hurricane of thought, memory, and anguish. He was a trapped animal, too, clawing for a way to escape. He slowly, cautiously stepped forward. He'd already made the mistake of stepping barefoot on the black-glass plains of this dead world, gouging his own feet. He'd walked and walked and walked in search of something, anything, any way out of this misery. Maybe now he had a way. Maybe, in this desolate wastes, the fragile spark of hope had yet to be extinguished.

A small, unassuming figure in grey, hooded robes steps out of the shadows, hesitant and almost... scared? No, not scared. Disbelieving. They step forward out of the dust, out of the dark, carefully reaching up to pull their hood down, revealing an androgynous face, bald save for brown eyebrows. Grey eyes stare in a face set with pure awe and disbelief. "... Sire?" the voice is feminine and full of cracked hope. -imperialarchive

The ancient recognizes the voice of his treasured archivist almost immediately. He had wandered the desolate, scorched plains of Terra for days, certain that whatever life existed on his world had been scoured from it in the aftermath of his violent rebirth. Yet here was the impossible, standing right before him.

The Emperor she knew came before her a shadow of his former glory. Nothing hid his nakedness from her, body or soul. His unclothed form had been marred by the scars of his last great battle; silvery lacerations on his chest, and arm, his neck and half his face coated in a layer of ropy flesh. One eye had gone milky white, save for the faintest outline of golden irises. This was no Emperor, no gilded protector-god of the human race. This was an enormous, but fundamentally broken man.

"You...." He thought, not realizing he said the word with his lips instead of his mind.

[divinituscaptivus]

@askmalcador

@syntheticache

[divinituscaptivus]

Откажись от будущего, пожертвуй мечтами, которые наполнены безысходностью. Избегай прошлого, борись с действительностью и никогда не оставляй своего благородства.

You give up your future, lose your dream, are stained with despair… yet at the same time, you shake off you past, fight reality, and never lose your nobility. (art Alena Filimonova)

[divinituscaptivus]

A small, unassuming figure in grey, hooded robes steps out of the shadows, hesitant and almost... scared? No, not scared. Disbelieving. They step forward out of the dust, out of the dark, carefully reaching up to pull their hood down, revealing an androgynous face, bald save for brown eyebrows. Grey eyes stare in a face set with pure awe and disbelief. "... Sire?" the voice is feminine and full of cracked hope. -imperialarchive

The ancient recognizes the voice of his treasured archivist almost immediately. He had wandered the desolate, scorched plains of Terra for days, certain that whatever life existed on his world had been scoured from it in the aftermath of his violent rebirth. Yet here was the impossible, standing right before him.

The Emperor she knew came before her a shadow of his former glory. Nothing hid his nakedness from her, body or soul. His unclothed form had been marred by the scars of his last great battle; silvery lacerations on his chest, and arm, his neck and half his face coated in a layer of ropy flesh. One eye had gone milky white, save for the faintest outline of golden irises. This was no Emperor, no gilded protector-god of the human race. This was an enormous, but fundamentally broken man.

"You...." He thought, not realizing he said the word with his lips instead of his mind.

[divinituscaptivus]

"These, oh hoho, these, these, my dearest companio,n are the results of thousands of lifetimes of planning. Oh how I waited, and waited, and waited for the time and technology to catch pace with my visions. These will be next step in human evolution, the key to our transcendence."

But they were so much more than that.

For generations, the Emperor had tried and failed to produce offspring that would match him in strength and longevity. He had taken many a mortal to wife, and even some husbands, none of whom were capable of producing offspring that bore his gifts. He had buried too many lovers and too many children to leave the creation of heirs up to chance anymore. Which was why he spent generations planning for and finally creating these chimeric children. And he made a bargain for their souls, one he never intended to keep.

The Powers were fools, horrifying forces of nature, but fools.

"But they are more than mere experiments. If we hope to conquer the stars, we will need generals, princes and princesses, heirs. They will be my children, my sons and daughters who will united the disparate worlds of Man. They may even be our children, should you so desire. You are welcome to take as large or small a role in their new lives as you wish."

"You shall have a very important role in this project, should you choose it. Come, I will show you." And with that, the deathless tyrant stood from his seat and left the room, motioning for his Sigillite to follow. Deep within the bowels of the Palace, far away from the sight of Prying eyes laid a chamber wholly dedicated to the craft of genetic engineering. What was down there was not a laboratory, no, it was something far more than that. There were menials here too, all of them missing tongues to ensure their secrecy. It was a birthing chamber, or it would be soon, for arranged at the center of the room were twenty pods, each containing a fetus suspended in yellow-green amniotic fluid. The fetuses were recognizably human, but inhuman, far larger than a human fetus should be. Some had tails, others wings. They were chimeric abominations. They were beautiful works of genecraft. Eighteen were his sons, and two his daughters.

[divinituscaptivus]

Slowly, slowly, the tendrils climb like vines filling this dark horrid realm with golden light. The closer they come to the peak of this mountain of flesh and bone, the more they resemble human hands; hundreds of them. This thing, this mass of souls and anguish, it wanted so desperately to reclaim its own humanity, but it did not know it to be possible. You are.

You are.

You are! It didn't seem capable of finishing that thought, as thousands upon thousands of dissonant voices vied for dominance within it. Weakness. Cancer. Death of duty.

It spat. Love. Hope. Wisdom. It was torn, fighting a war amongst its four billion selves. Some of its hands clung to the bones of its kills for death life while other hands pulled it forward.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Hands began to fuse as they drew closer to their distant Humanity. Then there were arms, legs, a torso. Slowly, but all at once, this shifting mass exerted godlike effort to pull itself together, effort that strained its dying body.

It was running out of time, and it knew it too. The mirror image of a human form walked the empty air between the two, a pearlescent thing made of horror and guilt and madness, and everything its victims felt the moment they turned to ash within those pods. And it reached out, unable to move further, but wanting, wanting to hold its hope.

The tendrils of light shuddered and backed away at the utterance of its, no, his name. It was like a weapon, like a curse go this nameless thing. Its name was Olleander, was Myra, was Marco and four billion other names.

Who was Kusig?

What was Kusig?

Kusig.

Kusig Alad.

A faint memory, one of a stream that ran through a forested village. It was a name only as old as written language, for a woman's voice spoke one far older. Who was this woman? She was soft, warm like the grasses in the summertime.

These were memories, an unspoken language that bled like a wound between Ayhan and the shapeless mass of golden light.

Whose were they?

They were his and not his, theirs and not theirs.

Slowly, tenatively, the tendrils moved closer, gently crawling like vines up the tower of flesh and bone.

You.

It repeated.

Then, finally, coherence; strained by noticable coherence.

What...are....you?

[divinituscaptivus]

@divinituscaptivus continued from here.

--

Oh, by the old gods, what had happened to him?

No longer was this just-- technically Himself, but it was a being that surpassed mortality, something morphed, changed, forced to consume so many souls just to survive, constantly tortured and in ceaseless agony. Yet, in some horrible way, there was a beauty in its indescribable form, with golden light piercing the darkness of the void.

Compassion peered through His hair, horror filling His very being... but there was no place He could run. So instead, He could only do what He did best. As the psychic feelers came forward, what met them was warmth instead of the coldness of the Warp. It was like huddling near a fire after ages of being trapped in an endless storm, with the scents of homecooked meals from ages long past, the feeling of arms hugged around them-- around every single soul. A comforting whisper, a murmur of love.

The shard's skin sizzled as He fought His spiritual restraints. Fingers curled against the arms of His horrid Throne, eye twitching while He focused His mind. It was undoubtedly weaker compared to the cacophony of voices that met Him, but the voice kept its softness, its understanding.

" ... You are in there, my old friend. " Ayhan whispered, voice cracking and straining while His skin burned.

" S-Such are the aspects of Love, no? It can be painful. It can make You feel sick. But there are so many good things You had forgotten-- what You've forgotten, I remember. "

" Oh... my old friend... "

Ayhan brought His hands out, offering them out to find wherever the head of His other half was. All that pain, that suffering-- it broke His heart, shattered it. He beckoned the creature forward.

" Come here... You finally found me-- do You remember the good times? The laughter, the swelling joy when Your-- Our sons were made? The excitement at realizing Mankind has a chance? Or even, far before that, into the very beginnings of it all... let those souls go, breathe. I am right here... Kusig. "

" And I never left... I waited here, just for You. "

[divinituscaptivus]

Chaos.

It was expected for the realms in the Immaterium to be so twisted, so malformed. Towering spires of flesh and bone, rivers of blood and endless seas of skulls, twisting labyrinths and fountains of knowledge that would drive even the most powerful of beings insane, gardens of plague and filth and several rings of the desires of mortals-- all of it, overwhelming the senses and meant to trap you within.

But beyond the insanity of the Chaos Realms, going further and further into the depths of the twisted Warp, it became darker and darker. It became a place where not even daemons feared to tread-- some whispered of the Dark King, some cried about the Anathema, but as things descended further and further from Chaos, there was... order. If you could call it that.

It was impossible to see-- like an all-encompassing void, it was a place where none dared to tread. Black sands made up this strange plane, with not even the sounds of daemons being heard...

... That is, until something crept into the Emperor's mind. A voice, oh-so-familiar, something no doubt long forgotten after ten thousand years of torture.

" My shard... you've, come for me? " A whisper. One filled with exhaustion, pain, but... hope. " ... it's been too long. " Ayhan's voice sounded hoarse. Like He'd been screaming or weeping for thousands and thousands of years, yet he'd never been answered, not once, until now.

In the distance, a rather glow emanated from the body of a man. His body was broken, slumped on a throne that mocked Kusig's own, made of bones, while chains had stretched from the dark to shackle His ankles, His wrists, and His neck to the throne. His clothes were in rags, His golden eyes flickering and the halo just barely being visible behind His head.

Compassion, cast into the depths of the Immaterium if it meant defeating Horus, was finally found. Ayhan could barely lift His head, but He peered beyond His matted hair, fingers twitching.

His situation mimicked Kusig's own on the Throne, broken in body, mind and spirit. Trapped to a fate He never wanted, with a dream in shambles and Humanity forgetting their original principles. Ayhan was stuck to that Throne, just as Kusig was-- as is above, so is below.

// @adeptvsastartes

What appeared before the shackled shard of Compassion could no longer be recognizably by called human. Sure, it was a human soul, or was it four billion human souls? One could, if they looked at it with the gaze of a master psyker, make out the semblance of a human form. To anyone else, it was a formless, shapeless mass of golden filaments of light, a thing that was truly Anathema to the unholy dark of the Immaterium. Here, it, they, he, found himself where even he had never tread before. Psychic tendrils reached out like feelers to find the being shackled to a throne of bone and rotting flesh. Then it spoke. Oh it spoke. It spoke with four billion voices, a timeless chorus of sheer, unbridled agony shackled atop a mountain of psychic torment force fed a thousand human lives a day. It sang, it screamed, it cried out its, his words.

You.

You.

You.

Familiar.

Alien.

Ally.

Enemy.

Outcast.

Comrade.

It was as if he did not recognize himself, for he had forfeited his humanity far longer ago than he could remember. Whatever made this human-souled-thing this coherent was taking insurmountable effort to accomplish. Little did the timeless chorus know, this effort was its death knell. What are you?

What are you?

What are you?

Human.

Humanity.

Illness.

Strength.

Cancer.

Weakness.

Hope.

Pain. @adeptvsastartes

[divinituscaptivus]

Sweater Guy! I am thinking.. I do have a slight talent in crocheting.. I can crochet you a cute lil Sanginius and a sweet Corvus! (Helll I can make you a lil Perturabo you can destroy)

"That would be delightful! How can I repay you for your work?"

[divinituscaptivus]

A small, unassuming figure in grey, hooded robes steps out of the shadows, hesitant and almost... scared? No, not scared. Disbelieving. They step forward out of the dust, out of the dark, carefully reaching up to pull their hood down, revealing an androgynous face, bald save for brown eyebrows. Grey eyes stare in a face set with pure awe and disbelief. "... Sire?" the voice is feminine and full of cracked hope. -imperialarchive

The ancient recognizes the voice of his treasured archivist almost immediately. He had wandered the desolate, scorched plains of Terra for days, certain that whatever life existed on his world had been scoured from it in the aftermath of his violent rebirth. Yet here was the impossible, standing right before him.

The Emperor she knew came before her a shadow of his former glory. Nothing hid his nakedness from her, body or soul. His unclothed form had been marred by the scars of his last great battle; silvery lacerations on his chest, and arm, his neck and half his face coated in a layer of ropy flesh. One eye had gone milky white, save for the faintest outline of golden irises. This was no Emperor, no gilded protector-god of the human race. This was an enormous, but fundamentally broken man.

"You...." He thought, not realizing he said the word with his lips instead of his mind.

[divinituscaptivus]

"You shall have a very important role in this project, should you choose it. Come, I will show you." And with that, the deathless tyrant stood from his seat and left the room, motioning for his Sigillite to follow. Deep within the bowels of the Palace, far away from the sight of Prying eyes laid a chamber wholly dedicated to the craft of genetic engineering. What was down there was not a laboratory, no, it was something far more than that. There were menials here too, all of them missing tongues to ensure their secrecy. It was a birthing chamber, or it would be soon, for arranged at the center of the room were twenty pods, each containing a fetus suspended in yellow-green amniotic fluid. The fetuses were recognizably human, but inhuman, far larger than a human fetus should be. Some had tails, others wings. They were chimeric abominations. They were beautiful works of genecraft. Eighteen were his sons, and two his daughters.

"Quite severe." The Emperor admitted without leading onto why. Sure, his beloved companion knew that he might be in danger, but Kusig Alad, Emperor of Mankind, did not have the heart to spill the details. Besides, it was quite possible that the awful future he beheld in his visions may never end up happening. Only careful planning could steer the course of what was to come, and Kusig had hundreds of mortal lifetimes of experience with that. "But I know of what can lighten the mood. Have I informed you of a project of mine? I have been working on it for quite some time. I hope you will be pleased with the results. This project will, one day, become our project. "

[divinituscaptivus]

a navigator's milky eye

[divinituscaptivus]