On the second day of fleet time after departing Terra, the Throne Shadow's Sovereignty and the 28th Expeditionary Fleet sailed toward Prospero.
At ship's time 22:00, Nareth casually tossed the Dionysian Spear onto the ground and walked toward the door of his private quarters.
His psychic power swept through the surrounding corridors, veiling every monitoring camera in its reach.
With his golden wings slightly unfurled, Nareth drifted silently out of the chamber, yet not a single image of him appeared on any screen aboard the ship.
The Primarch floated before Hathor Maat's cabin and placed his hand on the door, psychic energy saturating the steel barrier.
A faint hiss echoed as the pressure locks disengaged. The door slid open.
The moment it did, a spiritual corruption spread through the entire room.
On the floor, Maat lay curled up in agony. His biomantic power surged wildly, tearing at his tendons.
Soft bones cracked and popped as he forcibly halted the unnatural mutations devouring his flesh.
Blood, shredded meat, and bits of bone spattered across the deck, mingling into a thick, glistening layer of viscera.
Sweat poured down Maat's forehead as he used biomancy to painfully reconstruct his body.
Then, his spine went cold. Something immensely powerful and dangerous had entered the room.
Before he could react, a massive hand clamped around his neck.
He widened his eyes, trying to shout, but before the sound escaped, a black mist swallowed his vision.
The grip loosened. He collapsed to the floor.
Whipping around, Maat released a surge of psychic lightning and scrambled to his feet.
No one was there, only endless black fog.
Even with his enhanced vision, he could not see the end of it.
He raised a psychic barrier and scanned the surroundings warily.
After what felt like an eternity, Maat sighed in frustration. His superhuman senses and biomancy revealed nothing.
"Who are you?" he demanded aloud.
"I am," came the voice, and Nareth appeared before him.
He had already decided: Maat would not leave until he was completely corroded. Since he would soon belong to him, Nareth no longer cared if the Thousand Son saw his true form.
"Lord Nareth!" Maat gasped. "Why have you brought me here?"
"Why else?" Nareth smiled faintly. "To help you. Tell me, are you still tormented by the flesh-change?"
Maat frowned and let his biomantic power flow through his body, then froze, eyes widening in disbelief.
"The flesh-change… it's gone."
As the strongest biomancer beneath Ahriman, Maat's control over his body was unparalleled, even though he could never cure the mutation.
Yet now his skin was smooth and pale as polished marble. The chaotic, mutating energy within him had vanished entirely.
"Lord Nareth… how did you, how is this possible?"
Even the cryo-stasis coffins aboard the medicae decks could only delay the change. Most who succumbed became grotesque monsters; the few who resisted merely postponed their doom.
For eleven months, Maat had fought the corruption using biomancy, painfully halting each transformation, but never curing it.
Now it was gone. Completely.
Nareth waited for the shock to settle, then spoke quietly.
"Kneel to me. Serve me, and the flesh-change will never trouble you again."
"Lord Nareth," Maat said uncertainly, "the Emperor ordered the 15th Legion to obey your command. I will follow your orders."
"No," Nareth replied, his tone hardening. "I want you to serve me above your Primarch and above the Emperor."
Maat's pupils dilated in disbelief. "Lord Nareth…"
"You'll understand soon enough."
With that, Nareth vanished. He knew words alone would not bend Maat's will, but the corruption of the Fifth Layer would.
Ahriman or the other masters of the five psychic disciplines might resist, but not Maat. In the future, Maat would fall to the flesh-change, betray Magnus, and side with Chaos. His loyalty was never absolute, especially since he had yet to meet his gene-father.
Nareth returned to his quarters.
On the third day of the voyage, mortal servants wheeled food carts through the corridors, placing nutrient porridge in hanging baskets outside each cabin.
Ever since the Astartes had fallen ill, they'd been forbidden from direct contact. The servants didn't understand what kind of disease could afflict such beings, but the number of meals they had to deliver grew fewer each day.
By the thirty-third day of ship time, within the Fifth Layer of the Kingdom of Disorder, Hathor Maat knelt on one knee before Nareth.
"My lord," he said, "from this moment forth, I am yours to command."
Nareth nodded slightly. He was certain of Maat's submission, not from words, but from the black sphere hovering above his head, a mark of complete corruption.
'When I corrode Lian, that didn't happen. This phenomenon comes from the Fifth Layer itself, linking him directly to it.'
'I don't need to tell him about the Black Emperor. Through this link, I can send commands directly. That's important.'
Nareth knew the Thousand Sons would soon learn to summon "guardian spirits", beings that were, in truth, warp entities, likely daemons of Tzeentch.
If he mentioned the Black Emperor, the ever-present spirits might overhear and spread the knowledge across the warp.
"You'll return to the 15th Legion," Nareth instructed. "Continue learning what Magnus teaches you. I'll communicate with you when needed."
"When you hear my words, don't respond, just obey."
He decided Maat would remain among the Thousand Sons for a while, mastering the arts and psychic disciplines Magnus would soon reveal.
Magnus would not share all his secrets at once, but later, especially after the Burning of Prospero, he would reveal what he'd learned of the Webway on Aghoru in 999.M30.
'Keeping Maat among the Thousand Sons benefits me more than taking him away. I'll summon him occasionally to harvest new knowledge. If I must bring him close, it should be on campaign, not aboard the Throne of Shadow's Sovereignity.'
Nareth opened his hand, revealing a vial of golden elixir. "Drink this."
Without hesitation, Maat obeyed.
Nareth had chosen for him the "Spectator" path of the Visionary Pathway rather than the Hanged Man Pathway suited to biomancers.
As his hidden agent within the Thousand Sons, Maat needed to observe patiently, reading minds subtly, influencing without exposure.
The powers of a Spectator and Thelephatist left no obvious signs; the Thousand Sons and their guardian spirits would notice nothing.
Moments later, guided by Nareth, Maat mastered the elixir's power and thought to himself:
'The Spectator's ability feels similar to Apophis's psychic arts. His way is more direct, probing the mind itself, but that risks detection by strong psykers. The Spectator, however, reads the surface, expressions, gestures, subtleties, less invasive, less noticeable.'
He looked at Nareth in awe. If this being could suppress the flesh-change, granting such power was no surprise.
"Thank you, my lord," Maat said solemnly. "I will use your gift wisely, and bring you every secret the 15th Legion holds."
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