Emps

THUS FAR, THE Emperor of Mankind had viewed the conclave’s proceedings from afar, an observer who hears all and deliberates without giving any clue to his thoughts. Now he moved to the edge of the dais, his armour shimmering in the light as the stars shone brightly once again. Ahriman tried to shift his consciousness into the Enumerations to keep his perceptions clear, but the power of the Emperor was too great and too magnificent to ever truly allow clarity of thought.
Every soul in the amphitheatre stared in wonder at this paragon of all that was good in humanity, the apotheosis of mankind’s dreams and hopes. His every word was seized upon and written in a thousand places, like the words once transcribed as the faithful recitation of a god from the forgotten ages. The scrivener harness of Mahavastu Kallimakus clattered to life in anticipation.
Thoughts of Kallimakus were forgotten as a warm sensation of approbation washed over him. Ahriman recognised this feeling for what it was, the influencing of another person by instilling a measure of your psyche into their aura. Ahriman could perform a similar feat, though on a handful of people at most. To reach out to so many thousands at once spoke of power beyond measure.
The Emperor’s sword was drawn, and his gaze locked with that of Magnus, as though they engaged in silent communion unheard by any others. Ahriman tore his gaze from the Emperor and saw that Magnus was pinned to his seat, his body rigid and his skin pale. His eye was tightly closed, and Ahriman saw an almost imperceptible tremor in his flesh, as though powerful currents of electricity were tearing through him.
“If I am guilty of anything, it is the pursuit of knowledge,” hissed Magnus through clenched teeth. “I am its master, I swear it.”
Ahriman could hear no more, for Magnus suddenly drew a gasping breath, like a drowning man upon finding the surface of an ocean.