Chapter One

A/N: this fic was mostly inspired by Bruva Alfabusa's TTS series on Youtube, the general 40K fandom and the story "Defrosted: A 40K Story" by Fusion-Corsair. It is not an entirely serious or "real" take on 40K, and includes references, the occasional after-post edit, and liberal usages of lore handwavium and suspension of total grimdarkness disbelief in order for there to be entertainment and at least attempts at progress. After all, the 40K universe is among the worst of the worst even at a glance, and while others may embrace eternal suck more, none do so with more enthusiasm than 40K.

In the grim darkness of the future, there is only war. Far too many know this to be the case, and as such, devastation rages across the galaxy. Armies of differing species and ideals clash for control or survival, and more often than not, the innocent are cut down in swaths too horrifying to comprehend. The loss of life on such a galactic scale is so immense that many have become indifferent to it all, willing to send millions to their deaths for sometimes the simplest of reasons or most ingrained of beliefs. As such, few if any truly believe in the art of diplomacy, much less peace. Very few indeed.

Though not nearly the oldest inhabited world in the galaxy, the cradle from which man grew to journey amongst the stars sits in silence, despite the raging gold and bitter enmity it radiates towards the rest of the galaxy not under its own control. Countless void vessels arrived and departed from the planet, guarding its edges in the Sol system with some of the greatest fortifications to exist in eons. The people of the world, mankind, struggled day to day even on its splendorous surface, the gold sheen masking a rotting corpse, the beautiful death mask of what was once a vibrant world full of life and natural beauty. Venerated as the holiest place in the galaxy, it ruled a vast, sprawling expanse of space, and in turn was ruled by a singular, slowly-dying entity the likes of which the galaxy had not seen since before the rise of otherworldly forces, cancerous growths of the mind and soul that emerged in a cataclysmic clash the likes of which made the deaths of billions seem inconsequential.

Deep within the bowels of this world, of Holy Terra, birthplace of humanity and seat of the power within the Imperium of Man, a Mechanicus Adept trailed through a long and winding corridor, the walls buckled in places from millennia of disuse and decay. Followed closely behind by a pair of newly-enlisted Terran PDF, spiritual descendants of the Solar Auxilia and the other forces that had first bowed to the Emperor of Mankind, and a small cluster of servo-skulls made from the remnants of venerated disciples of the Machine God, they ventured deeper into the corridors, having long ago lost the natural light from the sun high above. As the rear of this pack, though, they were still heavily armed and trained, following even more so Terran PDF veterans, as well as a small contingent of Sororitas, all in turn trailing behind the leader of this great cohort.

Rediscovering pieces of the past was nothing new to the Imperium. Many made a living off of scrounging up whatever scraps of knowledge they could find, with some cults and sponsored organizations spending countless resources on following up on the barest whispers of rumors of lost technology and subsequent knowledge. Those who found such untold riches were rewarded handsomely, such in the case of several who found how to simply make a stronger, more durable knife. They received the ownership of planets in the Emperor's name, establishing feudal dynasties to rule over the worlds for generations to come.

As it was, a recent expedition to ruins scheduled for demolition had discovered an old pre-Heresy library, located at the base of the great hives of Nord Merica. Much of the data-slates within had been either lost to the ravages of time or contained knowledge already widely known. However, a chance investigation afterwards had revealed a hidden chamber, cleverly concealed behind a painting depicting the burning of the last church of Terra. The room had been filled with odd trinkets and technological gadgetry the likes of which seemed unimportant, yet to many could still prove useful, if studied properly. However, the true value came not from what they found, but what led away from the items.

There stood a singular door heading out of the chamber, delving deeper and deeper into the sprawling lower levels of the hive cities, passing by underhive upon underhive. In many respects, this tunnel was likely so old it was still connected to the long-since covered surface of the continent, and in time, the exploratory team found their feet stepping upon actual dirt, packed and dry to the point of flaking with every step. Daring to go no further, as scans had shown the whole thing to lead even further away, more resources and manpower were called in. The most important Magos of the Mechanicum within the region had been granted access as a result, with him picking his own security team on top of the explorers already deigned to join them. However, he wished for a few more meat shields, as well as grunts to do the heavy lifting.

So, proverbial straws were drawn, and Adept Baramus was selected to follow along, accompanied by some ancient servo-skulls of fellow AdMech brothers and a pair of similarly well-trained but, in the end, highly expendable PDF soldiers. Well, not so much selected as "hey, it's your turn", and with the possibility of finding either nothing or something truly remarkable (and then rubbing it in his superior's metallic face), Baramus had set off with all haste, despite the misgivings of his own accompanying "bodyguards".

"I don't like this," one of the Terran PDF soldiers said, his head on a swivel as his flashlight shone through the corridor. His bolter pistol was as lubed as one could be, the machine spirit having been extra prayed-to and sanctified for this very mission. "Nobody's been down here for centuries, the fact that it's still standing is unsettling. We could be walking into a trap."

"Quiet, Nothingus," the other man said, carrying the same extremely-lubed weapon. Everyone else was either ignoring them, or too busy discussing what could lie ahead of them to care. "I don't care if you like it or not, just keep your eyes peeled. Automated defenses could still be working down here, if whoever built this put them in."

The Adept spoke up, trying to ignore the banter between the two, despite how grating it was on his audio receptors. "More like no person has been here in millennia, actually. Indeed, nothing appears to have been disturbed for a very long time, according to my sensors. The air, though stale, is clearly flowing in and out from somewhere with access to the surface, instead of being choked with whatever exhaust a hab block exudes."

"I'm surprised we can even move through this much dust: it's like walking through the old sand beaches of the Atlan Wastes of legend," the second PDF trooper said. "How did this much even get down here, anyways? Is there a vent or something that just blows it all in here?"

"Yeah, well, give me regular synth-sand and sunshine any day, Importantus. If this place has been unseen by human eyes for thousands of years, who knows what we could find?" Nothingus said.

"Perhaps a cache of tomes on the history of humanity?" the Adept said. "Or the storage hold of an ancient STC fragment?" The hunt for archaeotech was an ever-present and sometimes all-consuming aspect of his order, and as such he was not above being thrilled at the idea of discovering such an artifact. Such discoveries often brought great glory and honor upon those adepts who undertook such a journey and retrieved something of value. Perhaps he would be elevated to the upper echelons of his order, should whatever he find be proven valuable enough. However, if that were the case, he would have to be extremely careful upon the discovery of an STC. If the Magos suspected him of not being loyal to the Mechanicum and the Machine God, but instead to any other faction within the Imperium, then he'd likely end up melted into scrap by the flamers of the Sororitas.

"I just hope we don't find a chaos cult or something, I hate cults," Nothingus muttered. "Last thing I need right now is some creepy sacrificial offering bringing out a demon and killing everything in its path. That always happens in the stories, you know: some unsuspecting people just come across a tomb or crypt or something, and Boom! They unleash some chaos demon or ancient evil legend or something, and then the area ends up having to be either bombarded from orbit or the planet just gets flat-out exterminated."

"You're overreacting, there's probably nothing down here but dust and us," Importantus replied. "Besides, unless the circumstances were the most dire possible, I doubt anyone in the Imperium would be willing to bombard, never mind exterminate, the most holy place in all of the galaxy."

Still, the trio kept their collective gazes ahead and alert as the corridor continued on, winding this way and that as it led deeper into the bowels of Terra. Up ahead, there was a dull hum that seemed to emanate from very walls, but as the Adept drew closer, he came to realize that it was the not the walls that were the source, but a small pillar, upon which sat a small object, lines across it in strange runes he did not immediately recognize. It was rather large, more so than a normal human could likely carry, and seemed etched with great care. The Magos and his highly trained bodyguards were staring at the device, seemingly in a trance. Only, when the three drew closer, did they realize the faces of their partners were… disappointed.

"It's not an STC, that's for sure," one of the Sororitas muttered, rather disappointed.

"If it's not, can we burn it?" the other asked, hoisting her flamer.

"No, calm yourselves, I suspect it is still of value!" the Magos said, before turning to the lesser Adept. He never did like the sisters, what with their latent pyromania. Even with the reformation of the Ecclesiarchy well under way on Holy Terra, the Sisters of Battle, or many of the remaining ones, still liked to burn things with wanton abandon at times. "Brother Baramus, enlighten our fellows as to what this is."

At last! A chance to prove himself and his worth. "Given it's strange appearance, I believe we must retrieve this for further study," the Adept said, gesturing with one of his Mechandrites. "It appears to be a dataslate, a very old one at that. It could be very well something of extreme importance, or contain as much, so we must remove it with great care."

The Magos looked at Nothingus and Importantus. "You two, get out the retrieval gear, but do not touch the relic. Baramus shall deal with that, as is custom."

Audibly gulping as they removed a pair of devices from their packs, the two PDF troopers stood back and let the Adept get to work. Strapping them to the servo-skulls, Baramus gently pushed them towards the relic before carefully packaging it. With a slight whine the strange artifact slowly rose from the pillar, the floating skulls somewhat strained by its weight. Pushing it along gently, and flanked by the two PDF, Baramus followed the Magos and his team out of the room, wondering just what it was, or what it could do, or if he would be recognized for its retrieval if it turned out to be important. The Magos would likely claim most of the credit if it were of even the slightest importance, but then again, perhaps not.

Hours later, as they spoke to the Inquisitor waiting for them at the entrance to the dark corridor, their gradually-building hopes were dashed by the mere look on his slightly scarred face.

"You mean to tell me all that you found was just for some kind of ancient tablet?" he asked, finger itching towards his sidearm as he gazed over the object, unimpressed. Here he had been considering killing everyone there not loyal to him, had it been an actual STC fragment. Yet after all the waiting for something truly miraculous, it turned out to be something as mundane as that? "Your actions of wasting my time, like this stupid object, smell of heresy." The man had been a commissar for a short time before becoming an inquisitor, and it showed in how readily he was willing to use his bolt pistol on anything he deemed "heretical". Most others at least tried to uncover or expose such heretical actions or thoughts before delivering the Emperor's justice.

"Calm yourself, Triggerus, we do not yet know what this artifact might yield us, for it has not been completely deciphered yet, and I shouldn't have to remind you that this task falls to the Mechanicum," the Magos said, its voice unidentifiable as either a man or woman. It very well knew the other reason Triggerus was upset, and was glad for it. "Besides, to one such as yourself, everything smells of heresy; you should really lay off the recaf."

The man harrumphed at that, but relaxed slightly as he walked to the tech priest's side. "Then, what does it say?" Anything sounding of heresy would have to be expunged or censored before it was made known to the public, if it was at all, so it was his job to know such things. The public needed to be kept in the dark of the things that inhabited the galaxy, for their own protection.

"According to the skulls of our long-fallen brothers, it is a short story of someone, a man, from long ago. It gives the story, one that is rather vague and filled with what could be construed as borderline heresy, such as referring to Terra as "Earth", but gives no name to this man, as well as a set of numbers I am still trying to decipher. They could be dates, coordinates, or even passwords to something else for all we know. It will take some time to decode them, I think, but preferably elsewhere than on Holy Terra."

"So... then what do we do?" Adept Baramus asked. "It would seem such a waste to simply toss such history in a trash receptacle, if indeed there is no reason to keep it. The more of our history that is lost, the more of ourselves is as well."

"Indeed, brother. We must bring this to one of our research worlds for further study, and to see if we can find anything that might aid us in such a quest," the Magos replied. "The small warp storms near some of our other bases have been causing trouble. Have some of the local PDF bring it aboard one of our ships, we will have the ship leave for Orestes Prime tonight with you on board, Brother Baramus. It is only fitting that you, the discoverer of such a piece, be the one to examine it." The Magos clearly did not believe the relic would lead to anything important, and he likely had other business to attend to. As such, better to push it off onto some lackey than deal with it himself.

"I will bring word to the Administratum on this new discovery," Inquisitor Triggerus replied, giving a curt bow. "Perhaps they will be able to decide how to proceed after the studies have been completed, and what to do with this new information." With that, he left, the small retinue of soldiers along the far wall accompanying him out of the library.

"Yes, indeed," the Magos replied, running several of its Mechandrites over the slab's shiny surface. "What secrets do you hide, I wonder?"

High in the Imperial Palace of Terra, within a room seen by only a select few, sat a golden throne, resplendent in glory too great for mere mortal minds to comprehend. Upon it's seat sat a figure enshrouded with countless wires, tubes, and blinking light, their skeletal appearance offset by an innately glowing radiance that surpassed anything mankind had ever created before.

The God-Emperor of Mankind, the Corpse Emperor, Carrion King and Lord Perpetual.

His body continually decaying ever-so-slowly, his mind remained fixed in this realm, powering the Astronomicon, allowing for his species to continue journeying across the stars. Yet, his mind was not what it once was, and as such, was merely a shell of its former self, splintered beyond imagining from the strain it was under. Countless fragments of the mind of once the most powerful being in the physical realm had been scattered all across the galaxy, both in the material realm and the Warp.

Yet, a small part, enormous compared to a normal human's mind but minuscule to the Emperor's mind as a whole, was focused elsewhere. It could perceive things as they happened, things that could potentially change much within the Imperium, and indeed, the galaxy. A long-lost piece of his past had been found, safely tucked away within the bowels of Terra: a connection to an older time, a time when he was nothing more than a shadowy figure in the history of Terra, then know as Earth. The nature of this small piece of history had always been on his mind at some point, as had many things, but he had always had more important things to do, like continue reclaiming the stars and pushing for humanity's domination of the galaxy. Yet, here he sat, unable to do much of anything else but think, sense the happenings in the galaxy around him, and power the Astronomicon.

"So, they have finally found the key to his location," this small part of his once-vast mind thought, sounding slightly amused. "I should think it was about time they did, with all the damn clues I left behind. But will they find him in time, or will others get to him first?"

Under the watchful eyes of the Adeptus Custodes, the Emperor's decaying body sat still, unmoved as it had silently for ten thousand years.

"Father, what are you thinking of?" Rogal Dorn, resplendent in his Centurion armor, asked.

"Not now, Rogal."

"But I-,"

"I SAID NOT NOW."

The darkness of space filled the viewscreen of every ship that thus chose to travel through it, and that was no different for the Terra's Scion. A ship built over two hundred years prior, it was a jewel of its kind, not just because it was heavily armed, but also because it was fitted with amenities more fitting a luxury ship than an exploratory one. Technically a cruiser of sorts, though with both expanded armaments and enhanced cargo capacity, it was indeed something else to behold to someone who had no experience with Imperial ships. The vast number of crewmen on board often had fashioned their own living quarters into things resembling actual homes, so long they had been there.

The captain, however, only used the luxuries on board to his full advantage whenever he was at port on a supply run. His family had built a long tradition of being excellent captains for varying reasons, and had instilled that same kind of quality into their next generation. Perhaps that was why he, Captain Ordacius, felt little need for using his luxurious suites. He was too busy scouting out trade routes and exploring the galaxy for luxuries like parties and whatnot, being a Rogue Trader and all. Besides, what little crew he had, compared to other Rogue Traders, were undoubtedly thankful he worked alongside them and not lorded over them like some pirate thug.

Still, the guardsmen that made up a large part of his crew were not often the brightest bunch in the galaxy, many having been conscripted from either hive cities, feudal worlds or backwater agri-worlds, and it showed. They knew how to follow orders, how to shoot their weapons, and how to load and unload cargo, as well as occasionally repel pirates alongside the small contingent of void-trained guardsmen on board, but all in all not much else. Yet, he had no inkling of whom to pick for a designated successor, for he was growing old and none of the countless children he had spawned over the many decades of his career had wanted anything to do with him or the family business. In his younger days, his power and prestige had gone to his head, badly.

Then again, that was primarily his own fault, as there weren't many ways for him to be reeled in, unless it were from previous experiences. When you leave behind a pregnant agri-world peasant or hive city official every few years and just show up out of the blue when the resultant child is nearly a man, the sudden family reunion tends not to go all that well. He'd been stabbed more than once, and shot at more times than he could count. By the Warp, his own family had wanted nothing to do with him after the fifth time they learned about it from some planetary governor whose daughter he had seduced, so Captain Ordacius now kept to himself and left his family's legacy where he believed it belonged: in the past, where he could no longer damage or be bound to it.

Still, he wanted to pass his ship onto someone and then perhaps retire to some paradise world to live in luxury for his remaining years, but none of the crew were worthy enough in his mind. Maybe he'd look around for someone at the next spaceport, or maybe he'd just sell it to the highest bidder...

"Captain, scanners are picking up something," a somewhat mechanized voice said from his right. His bridge crew were, as usual, silent as they went about their tasks, or when it was needed, keeping their voices low and professional.

"Go ahead, Adept Syngra, put it on screen."

The female tech priest he had picked up from Mars several years before fiddled with some buttons before a large screen showed a somewhat blurry image to the bridge and her crew. "It appears to be a small ship, drifting through this sector of space."

"Is it still active?" They were literally in the middle of nowhere, having just exited the Warp, yet there was a ship, floating, light-years from the nearest planet of any kind, Imperium or otherwise. Such things were not uncommon in space, given the thousands of years of history of space travel for mankind and other, lesser races of xenos. Yet the ship, blurry the image may be, appeared of human design.

"Other than the power core still running on minimum capacity, it appears to be all but shut off," Syngra replied. "It is not responding to our hails, so it would appear to be derelict. Yet..."

"Yes?"

"It appears to be completely intact, sir. No scorching or damage on the hull, the engines are off but apparently functional, and our scans indicate the shields, while powered-down for some reason, remain functional as well. Our scans are detecting at least one life sign on board, so there must be atmosphere within the hull, though it could just be a malfunction."

"Is it salvageable?" Ordacius asked from his captain's chair.

"The life sign, or the ship?"

"The ship of course." She was right, the life sign on board was likely just a problem of the scanners. Wouldn't be the first time, either, they could use a little tune-up whenever he got them to a shipyard, he supposed.

"Well, yes, but from the looks of it, it is very old, possibly pre-Heresy. Anything on board that would be an antique of the highest caliber." There was a note of restrained excitement in the partially-mechanized Adept's voice, seeing as anything ancient would likely be filled to the brim with archaeotech of sorts. Captain Ordacius left her to her own devices when it came to collecting as much "junk" as she saw fit, so long as it didn't interfere with her duties or her efficiency.

"Probably a fortune to any collector worth their salt," the captain added. "All right then, take us in for a closer look, and prepare a boarding shuttle. I want to see this ship for myself." Towing the ship would only be feasible if he were in an inhabited system, so getting the ship's engines back up and running would a top priority after it had been searched. That, and making sure the Gellar fields were working properly.

"Sir, it could be dangerous," one of the guardsmen aboard the bridge warned as the ship lurched forward slightly, the drifting vessel growing larger before them.

"I very well know that, anything out here could be dangerous," the captain said with a touch of annoyance, once again reminded that discipline was still needed from time to time. "That is why I'm sending you, Guardsmen Prollarius, along with two squads of voidsmen, to check it out. Anything you find on board that appears useful or an antique, whether its technological in nature or simply cultural items, bring it back with you, but do be careful. I don't want to find out you were bringing back a priceless dataslate or something, only to drop it because you weren't watching what you were doing."