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Chapter 182: I Have Long Since Become Human
🕑 Added 2025-09-26 10:43:32 +0000 UTCChapter 182: I Have Long Since Become Human
Estelia, ancient Aeldari ruins.
In the faint light of dawn, the spires of the ruins were phantoms in the thin mist. The dismembered corpses and ichor of the slain Tyranids had been incinerated by plasma fire, leaving only blackened scorch marks on the ground.
After a nightmarish evening, the humans within the ruins were gradually calming down under the gentle ministrations of the Angels' sons. Reserve squads patrolled everywhere, their ceramite boots echoing on the smooth, ancient floors as they surveyed their surroundings. Civilians moved among them, unloading crates of supplies from the transports. Comms-servitors were distributed to each group leader, and priests of the "Church of the Dawn" were organizing the populace into orderly cohorts.
In a cleared plaza, long queues formed at makeshift distribution points where nutrient-paste and purified water were being handed out methodically. Each recipient had to pause for a second before a scanner, allowing a gene-ident system to record their biometric data. In the shadows, certain marked figures would suddenly disappear, these "special individuals" escorted into the depths of the ruins by silent, black-armoured warriors. There was no struggle, no farewell, only the sigh of a transport's hydraulic ramp closing.
With each public posting of a Genestealer report, they simply vanished from the sight of those who knew them.
After many years, the Dawnbreakers had grown into a colossal organization. They no longer needed to press-gang civilians as they had on Pierdra, using bloodshed to filter out true warriors for the fight. These civilians, who had no professional military training, would be given ample supplies and then maintain order under the guidance of the Church.
Their movements were practiced, their coordination with the various organizations efficient. The entire process was seamless: identity verification, temporary shelter construction, population management, family reunification registries... every step showed a crisis response plan honed by countless trials.
And on the highest stargazing platform of the ruins, several red-robed tech-priests were "calibrating" the communications array. Their mechadendrites danced across the control panels, forcibly grafting ancient Aeldari technology onto Imperial equipment. Arcs of electricity leaped across crystal surfaces, as if protesting this blasphemous modification.
Aurele and the other surviving Exodites had been assigned to an uncontaminated section of the ruins. Out of respect for their shared battle and the importance of the World Spirit, the Dawnlight Fleet had adopted a policy of tolerance towards them. They had merely dispatched a few Wraith-constructs, disguised as Dreadnoughts, to oversee the area.
This was Ramesses's latest research project.
There was no shortage of illiterates among the Aeldari. Expecting them to conduct research was a waste; it was far better to send them to war. As it happened, the Aeldari's own technology was a perfect fit for this kind of necromantic engineering. The Wraith-constructs needed only minor modifications to become plug-and-play, even more convenient than the "Stormcast" warriors. The spiritual resilience of the Aeldari race was simply absurd. Once the influence of Slaanesh was severed, you could slap their souls into almost any physical body in the materium and send them out.
Ramesses seriously suspected that the Old Ones had installed some kind of preset system when they engineered the Aeldari, allowing their resurrection to bypass a series of complex warp rituals.
To provide a plausible explanation for those in the know, these Wraith-constructs were all fitted with Imperial-style shells. And so, a registration file for a new class of Dreadnought, the "Spirit-Forged," appeared on the desks of the High Lords, complete with detailed, yet flawless, technical specifications.
Aurele was clearly one of those in the know.
She knew that beneath the silent guardians' shells beat a presence far more familiar than any human creation.
"I offer you my respects, great ancestor," Aurele said, bowing deeply in the most formal ancient Aeldari manner. Her slender body described a graceful arc in the dim light, her emerald eyes downcast, avoiding direct contact with the Spirit-Forged Dreadnoughts' optical sensors. It was the most basic respect one could show a slumbering soul.
These ancestral spirits, imprisoned in mechanical shells, were listless and weary, forced to fulfill their duty as guardians even after death. The thought sent a bitter ripple through her heart. The souls within Wraith-constructs were anchored simultaneously in the material universe and the Infinity Circuit. This state of schism made their perception of the physical world feel as if it were viewed through a thick veil. On the battlefield, their movements were agonizingly slow. They would sometimes freeze completely, as if lost in the cracks of space-time. Only when guided by the ancient psychic songs of a Spiritseer could they accurately distinguish friend from foe.
And the Aeldari souls who entered the Infinity Circuit did not, as legend claimed, find eternal freedom. Those proud consciousnesses would gradually sink into the depths of the soul-network, like grains of sand into a bottomless ocean. Past memories, vivid personalities—all would be slowly and irreversibly diluted, eventually becoming just another dreamless node in the Circuit.
For this reason, every awakening of a Wraith-construct was a prolonged torment for the ancestral soul within. It demanded reverence.
Aurele had often listened to her own ancestors recount the glories of the Aeldari past, teaching the younger generation to learn from the lessons of the Empire's hubris and fall. Though the Exodites followed an ancient and primitive way of life, their wisdom and understanding of the galaxy were in no way inferior to their more technologically advanced kin. In fact, in some ways, they surpassed them.
"...You may call me Talitha. I was once a Howling Banshee," the former Banshee, now 'Spirit-Forged' Dreadnought pilot, spoke up. The Craftworld Eldar were quite respectful of their ancestors, and at only two thousand years old, she couldn't pretend to be one.
Constructs that could speak were not unheard of, but it meant the soul within had not yet fully integrated into the Infinity Circuit—a state that would accelerate the dissolution of their personality. Aurele's emerald eyes trembled. A terrible thought surfaced in her mind: was the situation of these Craftworld cousins so dire that they were forced to send souls who had not completed the transition into battle?
"My kinswoman..." her voice was soft, filled with an undisguised sorrow. "I grieve for your sacrifice." Aurele took a half-step forward, then restrained herself. She knew that each Wraith-construct was a mobile reliquary, not to be touched lightly. "Is your world safe? Our community here is now secure. You may return..."
Her words were a careful probe, yet full of sincere concern. She couldn't imagine what crisis had forced these cousins to commit souls who had not completed the rite into combat. At the same time, a warmth spread through Aurele's chest. To send aid to Estelia even when in peril themselves—what a noble sacrifice. If the sacrifice of the human warriors had shaken her, this act by her Craftworld kin, who had come to their aid knowing their own danger, made her very soul tremble. This act of mutual support, spanning a ten-thousand-year divide, was more moving than any ancient epic.
"???"
Talitha was momentarily taken aback. Her soul, having spent so long in the Warp, took several seconds to process what the Exodite was implying. She immediately offered a clarification.
"We are a part of humanity," the voice from the vox-emitter was suddenly crisp and formal, even taking on a distinct High Gothic accent. "We fight resolutely to defend the collective interests of the human species. This is the place we are sworn to protect."
"???"
Aurele's expression froze. Her slender fingers hung in mid-air. Her entire being seemed to have been put on pause. The shock was greater than when she had first faced a daemon of Chaos. At least back then, no one had told her that a proud Aeldari warrior would be shouting slogans for humanity.
Pfft~
A ripple of psychic energy emanated from within Talitha's chassis, like a suppressed laugh. If the great Farseer Hector hadn't personally chosen her to board the ship of the Lord of Discovery, she would probably still be drifting in the void, chewing on the bitter cud of her homeworld's destruction, lost and despairing.
Of course, life on a Craftworld wasn't so bad—if you didn't count the ever-present dark omens, the risk of your soul stone running out of power, and your personality being slowly devoured by the Infinity Circuit. But joining humanity, serving the human collective... that offered a much wider horizon. Her mechanical fingers unconsciously traced the four-winged emblem hanging on her chest, a new habit she had picked up.
The Infinity Circuit can't hold a candle to the Industrial Park... much cozier.
She paid no more attention to Aurele, who was rebooting from a complete worldview crash, and diligently carried on with her duties.
Craftworld Aeldari? That was a past life. I've been human for a long time now.
A Space Marine in bright yellow armour approached. His armour was battered, but his soul shone with a light that could not be ignored.
Talitha immediately manipulated her chassis into a flawless Imperial salute, her metal-sheathed fingers tapping a crisp report on her chest plate.
LOYALTY!
CLANG!
Faced with the sudden salute from the "Dreadnought Ancient," Malakim Phoros, who had just finished assisting the Church with disaster relief and was preparing to communicate with the Exodites under Romulus's orders, was utterly taken aback.
He hastily bowed in return.
THUD!
The Spirit-Forged Dreadnought dropped to its knees on the ground, performing a gesture of profound respect.
"???"
