#ione is a trans man in my eyes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nieithryn · 1 month

Text

Favorite Wild Space Quotes About/By Bail Organa - PART I

Exactly as it says on the tin. Some of these quotes may get lil metas/expanded Thoughts later, because I have been screaming about this novel and Bail & Obi-Wan in particular, but I also just wanna share some beautiful quotes from this beautiful novel by Karen Miller. This is QUITE long, and will probably get SO many extra parts, but I want these for references, because Bail deserves SO MUCH love and is my current brainrot, to be honest.

These are just from the first 13 chapters....absolutely brilliant, Karen Miller wrote this book excellently.

Padmé turned at the sound of Bail Organa’s voice. He was pushing his way toward her through the crowded corridor, collecting stares and rude comments, which he ignored.

“With respect, sir, you’re mistaken. If I have regrets, it’s that we’ve been forced into this war. That in creating our Grand Army of the Republic we’ve turned our backs on a thousand years of peace. On all the Senators who came before us and preserved that peace by steadfastly refusing to give in to their fears."

“Oh yes,” said Palpatine drily. “What a useful recommendation for my candidacy. Likes to drive dangerous machines very fast.” “Well, if you do, Supreme Chancellor, you’re not alone,” said Bail. “I’ve been known to break a speed limit myself, once or twice.”

And what of this lump of a Senator, this dull, worthy Bail? He’s married, but his barren wife remains distant on Alderaan. He’s an honorable dolt; he would never betray her. Yet he has feelings for Naboo’s brave little former Queen. Respect and admiration are a dangerous mix. These Senators work closely together, and that can make for fertile ground.

“We don’t have a choice, Padmé,” said Organa. He was still holding her hand. Realizing that, she pulled herself free. “You like this idea? You’re comfortable with it?” “Of course not. I hate it,” he said fiercely. And then he pointed through the trans-shield. “But I hate that more. It’s the lesser of two evils, Senator. Just like the formation of the Republic’s Grand Army, or making deals with the Hutts. It’s the lesser of two evils … and to save lives, we’ll have to live with it.”

Weary beyond even groaning aloud, Bail Organa returned from the Senate to the empty solace of his apartment. Voiceprint and a retinal scan verified his identity: the outer door slid open, and as he stepped across the threshold into the apartment’s foyer the lighting came on.

Bail felt his heart thud, looking at her beautiful hologram face. “Don’t worry, B, nothing’s wrong,” she said, her image flickering, losing its cohesion. Ion storms somewhere between Alderaan and Coruscant; they always played havoc with galactic communications. “I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. I was watching the HoloNet feed from the Senate. You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep? I’ll bet you’re not. Go to bed, hotshot. I’ll try to catch you tomorrow.”

Why was it they were the only two members of the Security Committee who seemed capable of reaching a decision quickly? The rest of the committee appeared paralyzed. The whole kriffing Senate was paralyzed, as though the Separatists’ success had infected the entire government with inertia.

I’ve a good mind to leave them to their whining and fly home to Breha.

Glass in hand, brandy-warmth lingering, he set the bottle on a side table and sank into his favorite chair. He wanted to call Breha, to lose himself in her soft voice and heal his hurts with her smile. But it was mid-morning on Alderaan and she’d be in the Legislate, taking care of their people. Without her, he could never have remained on Coruscant. The welfare of Alderaan was cradled in her hands. And the welfare of the Republic is cradled in mine.

Something’s scared him. Something big. Which hardly left her feeling sanguine. Bail Organa was a courageous, capable man. If he was unsettled—and he was unsettled, she’d seen the turmoil in his eyes—then it could only mean more trouble for Coruscant. Or for somewhere else in the Republic.

“Forgive me,” Bail said upon his arrival. “I didn’t know where else to turn.” As always, he presented an immaculate face to the world. Perfectly groomed, conservatively attired, elegance personified. But they’d worked together for a good while now, and she could see beneath his polished surface. She hadn’t been mistaken about him during their brief vidcom conversation: he was alarmed.

As though sitting was intolerable, he pushed to his feet and began to roam between the sofa and the window. “Of course, it’s possible the Jedi already know about this. But if they don’t—if they are in danger and don’t realize it—” He pressed a fist against his lips, as though fighting to hold back an intemperate outburst. It was so unlike him, such an outward expression of an inner agitation. “Padmé,” he said, and swung about to face her. “Have you ever heard of the Sith?”

"He’s a good man, Obi-Wan. He loves the Republic. He works as hard as any Jedi to see it kept safe.” There was the faintest derision in Obi-Wan’s clear blue eyes. “He’s a politician, Padmé.”

“But for what little it’s worth, Obi-Wan … I do know him well enough to promise he doesn’t scare easily. And he’s not a gullible fool, either, to fall for any old story.”

Organa’s brief smile was grim. “It was handled at the highest diplomatic levels, with the utmost discretion. If the details had leaked, we’d still be mopping up the political fallout today.” Really? Well, that certainly confirmed what the Jedi knew of Organa’s credentials and influence.

“These are dark times, it’s true, but some friends remain friends until the end. I believe Bail is one of them.”

Extraordinary. “You are taking an amazing leap of faith, Senator. And now you’re asking me to leap with you.” “Don’t you think I know that?” Organa demanded. “But given what they know, what they’ve managed to learn, is it any wonder they guard their identities so jealously? Is it fair to blame them for protecting themselves the only way they know how?” No, it wasn’t fair. And there was nothing but truth in Bail Organa’s passionate defense of them. Alderaan’s Senator believed every word he said. But was that enough?

“Calm down?” he echoed. “No. I’m angry, Padmé. Why aren’t you? What else is going on that they haven’t told us? What do they know that you and I should know, as representatives of the people and members of the Security Committee? That Palpatine should know, as the Republic’s duly elected Supreme Chancellor? Don’t you see what’s happening here? As hard as it may be to believe, the Jedi have placed themselves above the rule of law.”

He was so tall, so imposing, and she was so small in contrast. But only physically.

He looked down at her, clearly torn between resentment and contrition. “How is it you contrive to put me in the wrong when I know I have a legitimate grievance?” She smiled at him, fleeting mischief banishing the last of her temper. “It’s a gift.” “Ha,” he said, his anger evaporating. “One woman’s gift is another man’s curse.” He shrugged. “What can I say, Padmé? I’m afraid.” “If it helps,” she said, her eyes full of sympathy, “you’re not the only one.”

Organa turned. “Master Kenobi.” His expression shifted from warm apology to a cooler, more distant regret. “Forgive me. I was intemperate. And I should heed my own advice. Only by working together—trusting each other—can we hope to win this war. The Jedi may have their own way of doing things, often difficult to fathom by outsiders, but nobody is making a greater sacrifice for the Republic. I know that.”

Tell me again why I wanted to be a Senator? It was approaching midnight before he finally escaped. Exhausted, punch-drunk, he almost staggered through his front door. Too tired even for the restorative consolation of Corellian brandy, he bumped his way to the bedroom and fell face-first across the bed. Even his capillaries were aching.

“Sit down.” Obi-Wan stared at him. The man is distraught, exhausted, and a senior government official. Master Yoda needs no more trouble tonight. He sat, very slowly. “Senator.” Organa pressed his palms flat to his face. Took a deep, shuddering breath. Exhaled it sharply. “I’m sorry, Master Kenobi,” he said, his voice muffled, then lowered his hands. “That was uncalled for. Tell me, what were you able to find out about Zigoola?”

“Really,” Obi-Wan said, letting a little of his impatience show. “In the event that I become incapacitated, are you saying you can strip down a malfunctioning hyperdrive unit, correctly identify the problem, replace its faulty components, or improvise new ones, and reassemble it to full performance capacity?” Organa grinned. “A standard LT-five unit? Yes. Did it last week, as a matter of fact. It’s good relaxation, and I like to keep my hand in. Timed myself, just for the fun of it. Thirty-eight minutes. How about you?” Thirty-eight minutes? That was three minutes faster than his own best time. How aggravating. “I am mechanically proficient.”

Organa folded his arms, his expression settling into stubborn lines. “I already believe you. But my life is sworn to the safeguarding of this Republic, just like yours. I’ve got as much right to risk myself as you do. If anything, it’s my duty to pursue this matter.”

“Well?” said Organa, strolling into the living area. “Do I pack myself a spare shirt, or don’t I?” His tone was amused, his manner unconcerned—at least on the surface. Beneath it, however, trepidation and doubt churned.

“Breha is not the public,” said Organa, his voice chilling. “She’s the head of the Alderaan government. And it’s her cousin who’s died. They grew up together. They’re more like brother and sister. I don’t want her finding out from a HoloNet news bulletin or in some impersonal Senate communiqué. I want her to hear it from me.” Obi-Wan looked at Organa, torn between bemusement and irritation. “Since you’re clearly determined to tell her, Senator, I don’t see why you’re bothering to ask my opinion.” “Neither do I,” said Organa, and linked through to his wife.

Organa frowned. “Okay. So is this how it’s going to be? Me making sensible suggestions, and you kicking against them just because you can? Master Kenobi, I’m bored already. Take the kriffing drugs.”

#ch: Darker Days Are Coming (Bail Organa)#Reference: Bail Organa #Wild Space Quotes #Prince Among Men (Obi-Wan)#padme tag

3 notes · View notes

arkfeather · 2 years

Note

finally read 4197. tell me more about the funny nalka ...... (i WILL be reading the sarkicism hub and im hoping to read most skips linked in the hub but also tbf its Many Info) [lh g]

ARHGGHGHHG!!! [*rips open shirt*]

so the nalka are this religious group who are able to manipulate flesh (this is known as shepherding the flesh or fleshcrafting), they have themes of apotheosis and rebellion and eating gods. they also believe in the ability to perfect oneself and breaking free of the limitations of the body which is where shepherding the flesh comes in (trans rights >:)) they started as a rebellion against the daevite empire. the main characters that most talk about are grand karcist ion(aka ozirmok ion acc to the hub, also the like. the jesus almost of the nalka?? hes very important, he started the nalka), klavigar nadox(the eye guy, associated with knowledge, ions right hand man and or husband), klavigar lovataar(girlboss, associated with reproduction and pleasure, ions evil wife), klavigar saarn(mini girlboss, associated with poison, snakes, and justice, the youngest one), klavigar orok(the big guy, associated with strength, war, and hunting) -> these are the guys most people think of about when they talk about nalka!

also i will be real with you chief!! i do not like the portrayal of the nalka on the main hub, i know scp is a horror series but they vilify the nalka wayyy too much for my taste -_- esp in contrast w/ the mekhanites. its like theyre introducing the christian mindset of good/bad into mekhanites and nalkans when theyre better as equals, but whateves :P the hub is still good for the basics of nalkan culture and terminology!! but i REALLY recommend reading the anthropological approach to sarkicism series!! it has a much more humanizing approach to nalka and is also spooky!!! its long but tbh i consider it worth it. theres also this ref document thats rlly good for anyone just getting into the nalka, has a lot less text than the hub too!! im soo glad ur getting into sarkicism bestie i <3 the funny meat guys <33

#answered #SPRRY i took so long on this lol i wanted to get home so i could answer this on my laptop for max typing efficiency

28 notes · View notes

brinconvenient · 3 years

Text

Green Egg and Fam

You know what? I'm just gonna go ahead and do this...

So a few years back, I was talking to another trans woman who is very familiar with the DC Universe and we were trying to figure out who is Actually An Egg, and after a few suggestions back and forth, I galaxy-brained the answer. She heartily agreed and we talked about it a bit: 1. Artsy 2. Serial Monogamist who is a Relationship Disaster (Big "Do I want to Be With Her, or Be Her?" energy) 3. Becomes best friends with every ex-girlfriend 4. Noted Respecter of Women in Very Terrible and Awkward Ways 5. Chronically allergic to self-reflection and introspection, but also addicted to it in much the same way lactose intolerant people talk about how they can't give up cheese. 6. Just a complete and Utter Messy Agent of Chaos. 7. All too willing to adopt Other People's Expectations and internalize them as a Sacred Duty. 8. Just constantly Marked By Tragedy - both external and self-created.

It's Kyle Rayner, kids.

Torchbearer,

Honor Lantern,

Erstwhile Ion/avatar of the power of will

Kyle "I will be the Last of the Green Lanterns and yet keep trying to ressurect this entire Corps of Space Cops that I didn't even know existed until some Blue Dude showed up to give me jewelry and I guess marry me into the Corps? Because I guess that's just my job now and that will become my whole personality" Rayner.

After the conversation, this - the only fanfic I have literally ever written popped out of my head fully formed. It's intended to really be Chapter 1 of Several which are basically conversations between Kyle and one Ex-Girlfriend per chapter as Kyle finally accepts herself and transitions.

Eventually she reveals that the name "Ion" comes from her real name "ImOgeN" because she read Nevada and Was Impacted and she's just that extra.

But, honestly, despite getting started on the Alex chapter ages ago, I never have drawn the energy to go back and finish and/or write more, so I'm just gonna share the first chapter of what I am calling:

"Green Egg and Fam"

Putting the actual content behind the Read More because I've already rambled too long.

“It’s just exhausting, you know? Every few years it seems like I have to pick up the pieces of my life, my memory, my self and figure out who the hell I am! Every time I get a handle on things, someone or something comes along and shakes up the snow globe,y’know? I’ve tried to talk to Diana about it and, like, she’s compassionate and cares and offers sympathy, but most of the time, my whole relationship with her is just one more flake in the globe and I never know who we’re going to be to each other. Somehow, though, you’re always my favorite ex-boyfriend. It’s weird, right?”

Kyle patted Donna’s arm reassuringly. He glanced from Donna’s face to the view over Lake Michigan. There was no more beautiful view of the lakeshore than the roof of the John Hancock Building. He could just about make out the lights of the small shore towns across the lake in Michigan, and he could see the industrial Indiana towns along the round tip of the lake.

“I’m not positive I like that descriptor of our relationship, but I am happy to be some kind of constant for you,” he said with a rueful smile. “Donna, you are one of my dearest friends and I always want to be here for you. I know you didn’t need my help with Dr. Psycho here, but I’m glad I was Earthside to help you out anyway.”

They’d taken the diminutive psychic menace to the Chicago Special Crimes Unit, who had training and facilities for telepaths and telekinetics. They found this perch when Donna said she just needed a little bit to settle down before heading back to the Titans Tower in New York.

“No, I had him just about handled - a Lasso of Persuasion is pretty useful, after all - but I’m glad you swung through, all the same,” Donna said. “I’m glad to have a friend here. Psycho was really messing with my head this time. He kept dredging through my memory, pulling out bits and pieces of lives lived and people lost. He made me relive the loss of Terry and Robert and Jenny, over and over, replayed the tortures of Dark Angel, dragged me through that whole mess with the Titans of Myth, and I’m actually not sure which of any of those actually happened in this reality anymore.”

Donna’s breath was getting ragged and tears were falling down her face, twinkling in the moonlight.

“You told me about Terry and the kids when we were dating, so since I still remember them, they must still have existed and they still loved you and you still got to love them. I’m a little fuzzy on the Titans of Myth, so I can’t be sure about that stuff. But you’re here now and that’s what’s important right now. Just take a sec to enjoy this moment, this view, this night and see how you feel, ok?” he said.

They sat in the quiet, next to each other, watching the waves reflect and distort the moonbeams. Donna’s breathing calmed down and she straightened her back, half a head taller than Kyle even while sitting.

“Thank you, Kyle. I’ll be ok now, I think. I appreciate you listening. You have a good heart. If you’d only learn to actually fight without that ring, you’d make a pretty decent Amazon. Well … if you weren’t a man, of course.”

Kyle coughed and thanked the stars that Donna couldn’t see him blush. Suddenly Kyle felt like there was lava beneath his skin and he couldn’t sit comfortably.

He didn’t want Donna to catch on, so he stifled his squirming and whipped up a quick construct of a miniature green Kyle in an Amazonian uniform, breastplate, Spartan skirt and calf boots. For added effect he made sure to widen his shoulders and used Hal Jordan as a reference for a jaw far more square than Kyle’s real life chin.

“I’m not sure I can pull off the uniform. Guess I’ll stick with green and black for now. Ha!” he said. He hoped it didn't sound as forced as it felt.

“Oh I don’t know. You’ve got great legs, Kyle! Maybe you should start wearing shorts when in uniform. Besides, you had those over-the-knee boots for the longest time. I think you’d be just fine!” Donna said, laughing.

“Give me a hug, Dick just texted me to meet him in Blüdhaven. Take care and fly safe back to Oa!” she said.

After a quick, warm embrace, she turned eastward and flew off over the lake. Kyle watched her fly out of sight. He looked down and saw little Amazon Kyle, slowly spinning in the air. He drew the construct up to eye level and returned the shoulders and jaw back to his more slender and softer reality. It didn’t look that bad actually.

He’d been trying to make Donna smile, and deflect from … something before, so he exaggerated those features to highlight the incongruence, but he didn’t hate this more realistic image.

He continue to finesse the construct’s features. Like most artists, he never really considered a piece finished, he just stopped working on it. He smoothed the musculature, narrowed the shoulders a little further, pulled the hips out just a bit more, and left the waist alone. The ersatz Kyle’s face got softer still, the brow less pronounced, the nose narrower, the chin just a bit more rounded. He watched the chest muscles soften and breasts form to fill out the breastplate better.

Finally, he lengthened the construct’s hair to shoulder length, adding some wave and curls like Donna’s somehow-always-perfect hair.

And there she was. The woman who’d been haunting Kyle’s dreams as long as he could remember. Slowly spinning in the air was a woman who could easily have been Kyle’s sister, wearing Amazonian garb (or at least what he remembered from seeing Donna’s while they were dating so many years ago).

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he started fiddling with the image, and he didn’t know how long he’d spent staring at the final form. Sister. Yeah, right.

With an angry wave he flashed his hand through the construct, dissolving and dispersing the light particles that he’d given form. He hastily looked around the roof to make sure no one had seen him or, specifically, seen the construct. The burning sensation of shame returned instantly and he immediately flew into the sky until the buildings looked like so many light-speckled building blocks.

He took himself through a calming exercise he learned from Kilowog to help him center himself and sling his ring “like he wasn’t a complete Poozer and deserved to wear it.” Kilowog had no appreciation for just how hard it was for other people to feel calm when he was around. Still, Kyle found it helped when the pink giant wasn’t breathing down his neck.

“My will is strong enough to carry the torch for the entire Green Lantern Corps, I can stop these feelings. I can make all of these thoughts go away. I can stop this. I’ve got too much responsibility to keep indulging this … this nonsense” he thought, trying to ignore the sting of the tears fighting their way free to fall down his face, ignore the pain in his heart.

“I don’t want to lose my friends - what would Donna say? Would she think I was a pervert, or making fun of her somehow? I definitely don’t want to lose Hal’s and the guys’ respect. I don’t want to lose my whole life just because I’m some kind of freak. Get it together, Rayner. No one else is feeling sorry for themselves because they don’t fit in.”

He pulled a hand down his face and pointed his right fist with it’s gaudy, shining green ring on the middle finger toward the Milky Way and flew into space. He hoped the cold solitude of the transluminal conduits would help him regain his composure before he faced Guy, Hal, John and Kilowog for the Honor Lantern meeting. For the millionth time, he wished he could just be more like them, have just a sliver of their easy and effortless masculinity. They made it look so simple.

“Bet they don’t spend half their life trying to figure out what is wrong with them,” he thought. He tried so hard not to envy them, but it was really hard sometimes.

Especially nights like tonight where his resolve had failed him yet again and he gave in to his most hidden thoughts. He entered the transluminal conduit between Saturn and Jupiter and closed his eyes.

He traveled faster than light, but it still took time to reach Oa, so he tried to sleep and hoped that his dreams wouldn’t betray him again.

30 notes · View notes

ask-jaghatai-khan · 4 years

Text

Red and White

Another short branching off of my Revelation Mechanism lore. This features a closer look at their actual order of battle, such as the allegiances of Mars’ mightiest warriors.

The readouts began before any vid-feed could be reestablished. Diagnostics. Damage reports. Trapped within the darkness of his metallic tomb, Piotr felt as though his own consciousness was returning along with that of his war-machine.

[SYSTEM CHECK IN PROGRESS]

[HEAVY HULL DAMAGE SUSTAINED]

[SERVO INTEGRITY :: CONFIRMED]

[ION SHIELDS :: PRIMARY GENERATOR OFFLINE]

Sir Piotr groaned, but breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a sudden coolness come into the air fed to his pilot’s helmet. Systems were restarting. He wasn’t immobilized.

[ROUTING AUXILIARY POWER]

The symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus flashed to life in the middle of the holo-screen, followed by the digitized heraldry of House Taranis. These were then pushed to the side, as with a crackling feedback the primary vid-feed sprung to life. Piotr could tell just from the weight of gravity that his Knight engine was laid on its back, but the sight of grey skies far above gave him some better orientation.

He had fallen into a deep canyon, it seemed. Darkened stone rose on all sides, cut like a jagged scar into the crust of the world. Far above the desolate crevasse, the sky was a shade of slate just a scant bit lighter than the stone all around. One could almost be forgiven for believing themselves lost in some monochromatic tomb.

Responding to his control inputs at last, the Imperial Knight which Sir Piotr Arangia piloted began to move. Heavy rocks had pinned it, but these were little concern to the might of the war-engine.

[STARBOARD WEAPON MOUNTING :: RESPONDING]

From the rubble emerged one arm of the massive mech, equipped with an enormous adamantine gauntlet. Pushing the heaviest of the stones aside, the Knight exhumed itself from its place of burial, as Piotr began a command sequence to try and right himself. To be “turtled” in a Knight chassis was always unfortunate, but so long as it appeared that the core integrity of his steed wasn’t compromised, it wasn’t an issue for a seasoned pilot like himself.

With a groan of mechanical protest, the great colossus rose to its ungulate feet – a giant by the standards of any warrior, yet dwarfed by the sheer sides of the canyon about it.

He didn’t have high hopes, but Piotr tried all the same. Punching in some codes, he scanned the major comms channels.

“Hugenia Command, this is Knight-Pilot Arangia. Do you read?”

No response but static.

“Macroclade Primus, this is Knight-Pilot Arangia of House Taranis. Magos Dominus, do you read?”

Still, naught but static.

He didn’t need to check the status of the rest of his own Knight maniple. Steeling his heavy heart to the loss, he knew them to all be dead. Every one of their mechs was trans-linked to each other for immediate communications, and there was no response. The crushed form of another Knight Errant just a short way down the rubble-strewn canyon floor was but visual confirmation.

“Omnissiah guide your souls, kin.” Sir Piotr said a soft prayer, placing his mortal hand over his heart within the cockpit of his Knight suit.

Checking his geographical readouts once more, the pilot guessed that there would be a way out of this crevasse so long as he continued due north. With determined stride, he set his great machine in motion, seeking the way that he might return to the field of war above.

Sir Piotr Arangia was but one member of a great cohort of the Martian Knight House Taranis that had traveled to this this world of Hugenia in a time of dire crisis. The industrial planet had come under attack several years ago by the forces of darkness – heretics and abominations who had carved a path of devastation out from the Eye of Terror, washing this pious world in blood in the names of their Dark Gods.

Such was the might of this particular army of heathens, coupled with the expected delays in broadcasting the distress call, and the delays in assembling and moving an entire army across the stars in aid, that by the time help had arrived the planet had already fallen. Hugenia’s command was reduced to pockets of resistance just holding out against the tide, while the power of the heretic legions had grown strong. By their dark crafts they’d unleashed hordes of unnatural monstrosities against the besieged resistors, while entrenching themselves deep within the captured hive cities, spreading their malign corruption. It was by the Omnissiah’s grace alone that the Martian war-fleet had arrived in time to have any effect at all, but even now the fight was desperate, and it was possible Hugenia might be lost.

From Mars had been sent the War-Division “Red Legion” on behalf of Archmagos Chertovsky Upsilon-28 and commanded by Archmagos Dominus Go Zeta-06. In response to the apparent magnitude of the enemy forces, and the Archmagi’s desire to test their lauded war engines, the Red Legion had contained within its fleet a multitude of Skitarii cohorts, several maniples from House Taranis, and even a Warlord Titan of the Legio Fortidus – that last god-engine being the pride and joy of Go Zeta, who was an obsessive antiquarian.

Just as the initial assault by the heretics had been of devastating effect against the defenders of Hugenia, so too had the Mechanicus’ retaliation been swift and brutal. Yet despite their opening victories, the barbarians had been more entrenched than even the most generous projections had predicted. What resulted was a prolonged and directionless siege, in which the purity and might of the Mechanicus’ grandest machines and augmented warriors were put to the test against unspeakable horrors from beyond the veil.

One such horror had been the cause of Sir Piotr’s quite literal fall, and the fall of his maniple. They’d been spearheading an assault against a conjunction point for the traitors’ resupply routes, at the captured remains of a sprawling manufactorum, when the heathens had drawn upon the power of a cabal of dark sorcerers. The – being – which they’d summoned was unlike any Piotr had ever witnessed. From both the living and the dead of those mutant cultists which made up the vanguard hordes, the sorcerers had raised up a horrific golem. It was like a monstrous wyrm which had split the very earth, and consumed all about it, friend and foe alike. Piotr was just grateful that despite all the destruction the abomination had wrought, none of its putrid corpus had followed him down into the canyon.

The whole of the canyon was silent, in fact, as the pilot made his way northward. No whisper of activity, even from high above. Though any number of factors could have been the cause, it was Piotr’s grim guess that the beast of Chaos had laid waste to the battlefield above, and had perhaps either died itself, gone dormant, or moved on in search of more prey across the apocalyptic wastelands of Hugenia.

By the honor of his House, he would avenge his fallen kin. In the name of the Machine God, he was duty-bound to purge these abominations from the galaxy by virtue of their sheer unnatural existence.

When at last the canyon began to grow shallower, and light filtered in greater – if still middling – amounts down from above, Piotr knew his prayers had been answered.

Emerging from the depths onto the rocky surface of Hugenia, Piotr took stock of his surroundings.

It looked as though he had been moved some distance. There was the manufactorum near to the eastern horizon, though it was in a ruined state surpassing all damage it had sustained before. The crevasse ran from the fractured building all the way across the great battle-plains as if the Dark Ones themselves had plunged a blade into the tormented earth. All about there was the desolation of battle – ruined combat engines, fallen knights, and destroyed fortifications. Yet corpses were somewhat absent. Many a Skitarii warrior lay in martyrdom upon the smoking rock, yet nothing of the heathen dead could be seen. None of their twisted mutant forms were among the corpses.

Double-checking all his scans, Piotr confirmed that there were no major heat signatures or seismic disturbances that may have pointed to that creature summoned by the sorcerers. Though he was a devout man, focused on his calling as a warrior above all else, his status as a veteran of that most Martian-loyal of all Knight Houses meant he was privy to such lore as most men could not be trusted with. He guessed, based on his knowledge of those horrific beings that might be drawn from the Warp, that this flesh-golem had consumed all that it could find upon the killing fields, and moved on in search of further prey.

He had to reach his commanders, lest they face such a daemon without forewarning.

Piotr set the legs of the King-Slayer, his artificed machine, on a route further northward. With all the speed he could draw from its servos, the hunched mech loped across the barren fields towards those jagged uplands where he knew the Red Legion forward base had been constructed. As his war-machine was set on autopilot, Piotr kept checking all comms channels he could think to use.

“Macroclade Primus, this is Sir Piotr Arangia broadcasting on all channels. I am the last survivor the Taranis maniple. Manufactorum Cetus-Eta destroyed by heretical magics. I have emergency intel for high command. Please respond!”

He was about to set the broadcast with a looping ping, when by his good fortune an actual response came. A tittering blast of binaric cant came through his helmet’s speakers, followed by the deep, modulated voice of a Tech-priest.

“Knight-Pilot Arangia, this is Magos Vatin, temporary overseer of Forward Base Eta,” came the vox-cast, “What is your current location?”

“Thank the Omnissiah!” Piotr sighed into his speaker, receiving a short series of affirmative beeps from the Magos despite the delay in communicating his information, “I am on route from the southern battlefield to Eta Base. Predicted arrival in roughly one standard hour.”

“What is your emergency intel, Knight-Pilot?” Vatin pressed, “This is a secured channel.”

“The heretics have raised some manner of creature from the Warp. It is colossal and hungry. I do not have a reading on its location, but I can only predict it will attempt to attack the forward base.”

“Noted, Knight-Pilot,” the Magos confirmed, “Preparations will be made.”

“Affirmative. I am piloting a Knight Errant-B class. Engine name ‘King-Slayer’. Please keep a reading on my signature, as my heraldry has been damaged, and this is a non-standard Questoris pattern.”

“Noted, Knight-Pilot,” Vatin repeated, with what one might have assumed was the exact same audio-file, “Can you confirm with over sixty percent accuracy that you are the sole survivor of your maniple?”

“Affirmative, Magos,” Piotr’s voice was grave with the loss, “My brethren were – hold on – damnit—!”

From Vatin’s end, the transmission was cut as the Knight-Pilot rerouted his power for sudden defensive maneuvers.

The King-Slayer had been nearing the battlefield’s furthest edge of fortifications when there’d been a sudden disturbance. From around the burnt-out husk of a heavy Mechanicus transport, something had stalked out like a scavenging hyena.

In many ways it looked quite similar to Piotr’s knight suit – even more so due to the fact that he was the pilot of an Errant-B class, which held such features as ungulate-like legs and heavier armor compared to a conventional Errant. The combatant which rounded the carcass of the dilapidated vehicle had a similar gait, though even more hunched, and with a distorted outline brought by all the numerous unnatural growths about its form.

It may have once been a Knight Gallant – armed with chainsword and thunder-gauntlet, equipped to lay low the mightiest foes of the Imperium in glorious close-quarters combat. Now, it was a monstrosity. From within the morass of corruption could be seen but the faintest hints of the corroded metal which had once armored and supported the giant, but nothing more than its steel-toothed armaments and the general skeleton of the thing suggested what it had been before. Its hull was covered in thick layers of daemonic flesh, pink and red and gory, which formed mats like the rotted remains of a horrific mass grave, while larger tendrils coiled about the machine’s limbs, perhaps moving itself more by some sorcerous anatomy than by engine-fire. Its head was gone, replaced by a morass of fanged phalanges, like the maw of a lamprey, and standing in fleshy contrast to the iron skull-mask of the King-Slayer.

This was not the beast the black magicians had unleashed, but it bore much of the same gory mutations as all who made up this blasphemous host. Reports had said their cult was named the Brethren of Hunger, and the eye-watering barbarities which they committed and reveled in expressed the full horror of what such a name implied.

With a scream like the rending of armor and the howling of dying men, the Chaos Knight spied the form of the King-Slayer and charged at once in a shambling sprint.

Such was the speed of the otherwise ungainly-looking thing that Piotr had just enough time to prepare himself. With his reactor core operating at suboptimal capacity, he had to choose between offence and defence. Routing all power from his ion shields, he trusted in the fury of his artificed thermal cannon.

By the Machine God’s grace, the first shot struck home. It lanced out with a sizzling crack as it burned the very air around it, the energy-beam impacting with the fallen Knight’s arm just above its thunderstrike gauntlet. Daemon flesh was seared through, along with the dilapidated frame beneath it. As the arm fell, a few failing tendrils seemed to try and grab it up again while the monster screeched in fury, but the weight of the weapon was now too great without the heaviest tendons, and the limb was severed.

Still the creature did not halt, however, charging on despite its crippling. Piotr swore, bracing for impact, but as he did so he saw the face of the thing convulse. From within the radial maw of the thing came something like a gob of vomit. A sac, undulating and lambent with a crimson glow, was sent hurtling in a cascade of ichor out of the beast’s throat and towards the King-Slayer.

Piotr raised his mech’s own gauntlet to deflect, and as the disgusting projectile hit there was a burst of light and fluid. Whatever fell substance was contained within was like molten flame, and readouts went critical from his melee weapon as the burning acid seared clean through its armor.

The shot was devastating, but despite the heavy damage to his weapon, and the staggering effect the biological bomb had, Piotr did not give in. As the monster closed, he fired a wild shot from his thermal cannon, and charged forward with his Knight’s shoulder just after.

By sheer luck, the blast connected with the daemon-engine’s knee, while the limp form of the King-Slayer’s injured gauntlet was swung into its fleshy face like a flail. The monstrosity and the loyal Knight were sent off at odd angles from each other from the impact, but whereas Piotr was able to stay upright, the Chaos Knight fell headlong as its corrupted flesh struggled to keep its damaged leg together.

It fell to the ground with a colossal crash, blood and sickening fluids running from its severed limbs, screeching like a nightmare with its faceless mouth. Yet still it did not die. Twisting its chainsword-wielding arm like the limb of some strange insect, it began trying to pull itself along on hand and knee towards Piotr’s mech. It howled and slavered, desperate to the last to consume its hated prey.

As Piotr was lost for a moment in watching the abomination, his decades of training broken for a moment by the sheer disgust this most fallen of heretics evoked, he saw the mouth of the daemon-engine convulse once again.

He didn’t delay. Taking one great step forward to aid his aim, the King-Slayer locked onto the crimson mass within the gullet of the creature before it was even let lose. A final shot of thermic power was sent screaming out, right down the throat of the monster. There was a great explosion, with a sound like an entire silo of ripe fruit being crushed, and when the spray of red mist and acrid smoke cleared, the beast’s head was gone.

It did not make another sound save for the burbling of tainted blood that flowed from the hole that now dominated the front of its torso. Falling still at last, the fleshy tendrils which held the creature together sagged, and it collapsed beneath its own weight.

Piotr Arangia contemplated what hells could await such a fallen soul that were worse than their every moment of mere existence had been.

Without a moment to waste, still set to deliver to the message to Eta Base, the King-Slayer left the smoldering hulk there upon the battlefield. One more dead abomination in the eyes of the Machine God. Even if Hugenia were purged of all life, Piotr felt some inkling of pride for having rid the universe of that particular affront to sanity.

Swifter than any other being upon two legs, the King-Slayer ran to the shattered hills.

Up in the highlands, in the ready-built and fortified Forward Base Eta, Magos Vatin surveyed the surrounding wastes from his comms tower. Old by the years of mere mortals, Vatin was nonetheless a novice by the standards of his immediate commander, Archmagos Dominus Go Zeta-06. Yet the Archmagos had needed to leave for the time being, to fetch reinforcements suitable to press their assault on this front. The siege of Cetus-Eta had not gone quite as expected, yet it seemed as though said reinforcements would be needed all the same. Beyond the ruined manufactorum, the barren wastelands turned into miles upon miles of dilapidated urban sprawl, no doubt teeming with more of those perverse-fleshed cultists of the Brethren of Hunger. Go Zeta was the sole tech-priest among the Red Legion who had the full intel on this warband, but Vatin suspected from simple observation that they were the fallen remnants of some ancient Imperial cohort, given their mix of cultists, war machines, and malign engineers.

Vatin himself was a Magos of Mars and wore the red robes of that diocese. His form was not too dissimilar to a standard human’s, at least from his silhouette, though beneath his robes was naught but a morass of mechadendrites and numerous processing modules.

As of now, he was tracking the signal of Piotr Arangia’s Knight. Errant-B. Typical rarity among the comrades of Go Zeta and Chertovsky Upsilon. No doubt Upsilon knew just what manner of horrors had laid siege to Hugenia and had figured it an ideal testing ground for his “collection” of technical marvels. Vatin pondered how he’d have preferred to have several cohorts of proper battle-automatons over these simple Skitarii. They did their job well, but with the sheer amounts of dangerous biohazards these cultists seemed to invoke, what parts of the Tech Guard that were still of flesh had been targeted as a vulnerability.

“Magos,” came a voice quite different from the crackling tones of the Tech-priests. It was General Yanov, of the Hugenian Defence Force. A somewhat short, but quite well-built man with tawny hair and ghost-pale complexion. With the fall of Hugenia’s industrial government, the HDF had taken over the situation before the arrival of the Red Legion.

“I’d appreciate a status report, if you please. My soldiers are preparing as best they can, but I’ve received very little in the way of information from you since your superior officer left for orbit.” The human was not shaken, but he seemed irritated.

“Noted, General,” Vatin turned to the man, “It appears as though the assault on Cetus-Eta resulted in the total loss of all combatants, by basic calculations. More practically, I am in communication with a surviving Knight-Pilot of House Taranis. I intend to give the order for total lockdown, as it appears we may be facing an incoming attack. Based on battlegroup transmissions, however, I expect Archmagos Go Zeta-06’s aid to arrive in a suitable timeframe.”

The General’s eyes went down, as he seemed to think for a moment, “Acceptable. Are my commando squads still expected to provide navigation in the Sprawl?”

“That has been amended. We will not need to worry about navigation in the Sprawl. Your commandos will better serve when we reach the hive, where we may require more precise purges depending on the enemy’s entrenchment.”

“Very well. Keep me in the loop next time.” General Yanov emphasized that last part, as Vatin’s attention seemed to have drifted back to his readout panels.

“Of course, General. Now if you will excuse me, I believe Sir Piotr has reached the outer perimeter.” With that, the cyborg left the human commander in the comms tower, rather dismissive considering their ranks were near equivalent in this context. Yanov couldn’t say he had any great love for the attitudes of these tech-priests, but at the very least they were efficient. Well – this assemblage was.

Down by the southern gates, the battle-scarred form of the King-Slayer heaved its way in view of the Mechanicum sentinels. Red and white heraldry charred and stained and chipped, noble melee weapon twitching and struggling to support its own weight, and the overall motions of the knight jerky and unwieldy from its exhausted reactor core, yet still it marched on.

Though it could not be seen, shielded as he was within cockpit and uplink armor, Sir Piotr’s hair was streaked with grey – he had not served with distinction for as long as he had to die this day.

He broadcasted the battlegroup passcodes, and the gate opened after a momentary processing from the security servitor. Lumbering into an open courtyard, surrounded by a veritable fortress of prefabricated buildings, the King-Slayer at last ground to a halt.

When Sir Piotr popped open his access hatch to peer from atop his great war-engine, he was met with the sight of a procession of Skitarii, led by a single Magos.

“Hail!” the armored knight called down from some ten meters above the ground, “Magos Vatin?”

“Affirmative,” for the tech-priest to elevate his voice was a strange thing, as his timbre did not change – he just raised the volume on his vox, “Sir Piotr Arangia, how dire is your condition?”

There was a hissing of seals releasing as Piotr removed his pilot’s helmet. Beneath was the face of a man one would little suspect of being a veteran noble of one of the mightiest Knight Houses in the galaxy. His features were gaunt, but overall plain, with skin of a middling sallow shade with dark eyes. His hair and beard were a deep brown, almost black, grey-tinged and cropped close so as to not interfere with his personal armor. Despite his somewhat haggard and unassuming appearance, the fact that he stood astride a Knight Errant-B, and the conditions of the battle he had returned alive from, spoke to his prowess.

“King-Slayer is about ready to give in, but I believe most of the damage is from an overworked reactor core. I fought an abomination of the Brethren, as per our transmission cutting off. It lies dead, but it was not the creature I warned you of,” the pilot relayed, “How quickly can your adepts shore up my Knight? Forget the armor, I just need it to be ready for combat.”

“I have already transmitted coordinates to the nearest repair facility in this base. Omnissiah’s tears, we are short of vehicles to service as of now, due to the casualties of the battle from which you alone returned.” Vatin said.

“Where is Go Zeta?” Piotr asked, then. Vatin disliked the breach in etiquette, but he felt correcting the pilot would bring about delays than anything.

“Inbound.” Was his simple reply, though it was laden with some implication that almost made Piotr smile in curiosity.

“I take my leave then. Ave Deus Mechanicus.” The King-Slayer groaned as it was pushed again into life. Its poor machine spirit, pained as it was, nonetheless possessed even more fortitude than its stalwart pilot. Vatin repeated back the phrase of salute as he watched the Knight lumber into the core of Eta Base.

What a world was this, that tested the mightiest of the Machine God’s engines so.

—

Piotr Arangia watched with solemn pride as the tech-adepts and enginseers set about replacing the primary reactor core of the King-Slayer. He took a deep drink of a canister of water, refreshing after all he’d been through. Still, despite his growing fatigue, and the mighty bulwarks of the Red Legion base, he felt naked outside the titanic mech. There were yet enemies about – not just across the surface of Hugenia, no, they could wait. He considered the foes which might show themselves at any moment.

“A magnificent engine. It pains me we do not have time to undertake full repairs.” The lead enginseer spoke to Sir Piotr. Rather dissimilar to the higher tech-priests, this enginseer was built more like a man, though layered with a carapace of thick augmetics. He used a somewhat casual tone that made Piotr wonder if High Gothic wasn’t a language he spoke often.

“A relic some six thousand years old, at least by the name it bears now,” Piotr commented, “Would you believe it was one a steed to a traitorous Dreadblade? He was laid low by a great paladin of House Taranis, and by the most dedicated ministrations of the Martian clergy was its machine-spirit saved. It’s served dutifully in my house for millennia now, but such are its quirks – of design and reputation – that only veterans are permitted its command.”

Though the cyborg’s face was an unmoving mask, his body language still seemed to suggest surprise, “Such a history. I can see why your maniple was summoned by the Red Legion.”

The Knight-Pilot just nodded and made some noise to the affirmative, watching as the new core was slid in place into the King-Slayer’s torso, the hiss of its seal followed by a clanging lock that confirmed it had been affixed.

Not a moment had passed from that singular repair, with the adepts having not even enough time to begin the proper post-installment litanies and anointments, when a tremor ran through the ground. By the sheer durability of Martian engineering did the whole fortress not come down, as the planetquake felt as though it was set to split the ground in two.

“What in the God-Emperor’s name was that?” Piotr demanded, all calm from his momentary reprieve shattered in a moment.

“Report!” the lead enginseer demanded of the repair center’s control deck.

In reply, they received an overriding broadcast in the voice of Magos Vatin.

“This is an emergency report. Massive seismic activity reported. There has been a surge in subterranean Warp radiation signatures. All units to defensive stations. Order immediate.” Speakers throughout the fortress blared the message, followed by the rising wail of klaxons as the whole of Eta Base moved into action like a disturbed anthill.

“Is King-Slayer ready?” the pilot demanded, though he was already striding over to the mounting scaffolding that surrounded the mighty suit.

It was time he avenged his kin.

From the comms tower, Magos Vatin overlooked a sight that drew something approximating fear even from the depths of his cold, mechanical heart. The readouts had been staggering, but the visual confirmation from the highland wastes beyond Eta Base’s walls were enough to slow his cybernetic ichor.

Great rifts had fractured open in the barren landscape, like a jagged maw into the planet’s crust. Miles across, the Magos had wondered what they were expected to do if one of the crevasses reached the base itself, but once the tremor had ceased, so too had the spread of the rocky abyss.

The roar of scouting craft came streaking overhead – a mixture of Hugenian and Mechanicus flyers that the Magos had mobilized to try and suss out the source of this disturbance. In an aerial phalanx they hovered over the pit, VTOL craft arcing lower and stabilizing as they affixed spotlights and laser probes on the shadowy depths.

Not even the fastest calculations of a war-minded Archmagos might have reacted in time to what unfolded then. Whipping out from the crater, its slow speed at distance but an illusion for how fast the titanic mass must have been moving, shot an enormous tendril. The color of blood and sinew, the appendage of flesh nonetheless showed its superiority to Martian steel as with a single strike it batted three Mechanicus thopters from the air like flies. Swarming, either in retreat or retaliation, the rest of the skyborne battalion attempted to combat the unnatural monstrosity with las-fire and aimed explosives.

Yet then more tendrils came slithering up from the inky black, like towers of corrupted flesh. They emerged from the ground like a parasite from a wound, and before long the call for retreat was sounding on all channels of the air squadron, as in mere moments they were decimated by the creature’s flailing assault.

Down in the eastern courtyard of Eta Base, the battle-scarred form of the King-Slayer strode into the dim light of the Hugenian day, and stood in terrified awe of what he saw beyond the fortress walls.

Even at this angle within the fortifications the monstrosity could be seen, such was its size. Though all the colossal height of its appendages compared nothing to the true creature.

From up out of the center of the writhing limbs, like a geyser of solidified gore, came the body of that daemonic golem forged by the dark sorcery which the Brethren of Hunger had forced upon reality. Though no details beyond its sickening color could be seen at this range, Piotr knew enough of the horrid workings of their foes to assume that this accounted for the apparent absence of corpses upon the killing fields. The beast’s body evoked the head of that fallen Knight he had left ruined on the outskirts of Cetus-Eta, being like a hellish worm with an eyeless face and gaping mouth. From its body grew untold numbers of tendrils, and great shards of twisted, bonelike fusions. Its body dripped with discolored blood, from numerous gashes like wounds along its serpentine sides, from which also emanated a scarlet glow that suggested that fell bile which had left the King-Slayer’s gauntlet in ruins.

Such a terror from beyond the veil of sanity might have had the power to split worlds in twain, as far as mere mortals could guess. Still, Piotr’s faith was all that was left to him, and he wondered if this was the sign that he was soon to join his ancestors in the Eternal Halls.

When he succumbed, he would make sure to overload the King-Slayer’s new reactor core. He would not allow his flesh to become a part of that abomination.

The roar of the monster, like the amplified screams of a million tormented souls, was alone matched by a sound that rose in response. Its vast shadow was darkened by a greater pall which was cast in front of the smog-shrouded sun.

Down from the heavens, splitting the very atmosphere at its passing, dipped the silhouette of a Mechanicus heavy cruiser. Even so far above in low orbit, its form was like that of a floating city. Despite its blunted shape, mighty engines held it aloft with acute grace, as it drifted to a halt above the highland wastes.

From over the Red Legion battle channels, a transmission aired.

“This is Archmagos Dominus Go Zeta-06,” came the voice, with the timbre of a clarion horn, followed by a blaring string of binary, “Sing praise to the God of All Machines.”

With that, the message cut, and though the colossus of flesh still howled and thrashed, tearing into the earth as it began to pry itself up from below and towards the base’s walls, there seemed a moment of silence in the minds of all those defending. Piotr wondered if they were all of them about to experience the Omnissiah’s molten wrath from above. It would be expected, if not so glorious, in light of the corruption they all faced.

Instead, there was a single flash of brightness from the cruiser’s shadow far above, and from the echoing anti-noise grew a screaming wail. Like an artillery shell flung by the hand of the Emperor himself, a bloom of fiery radiance descended from on high. It fell slow, considering the massive amounts of wind resistance it was exerting to slow its descent, yet still it came crashing in a hail of flame and fury like meteorite into the surface of Hugenia. When it impacted, even the giant daemon of flesh was staggered, reeling at the shockwave, while structures shuddered from this second tremor, and anything that stood on two legs which was not so mighty as a Knight was sent sprawling and stumbling.

It was a great monolith of superheated metal, there impacted in a deep crater not a few miles off from the fort perimeter and where the daemonic behemoth continued its clawing ascent from the depths. For the objects size, it did not seem so far, as it towered above even the highest point of Eta Base’s comms tower. Piotr recognized the design, though it was rare to see it at such a colossal scale – a drop pod.

With a howl as if the gates of hell had been shattered, and a hissing of steam like a volcanic eruption, the sides of the enormous container were blown open. The outer shielding, still bright red from the residual heat of the descent, crashed to the ground in the form of four great ramps, releasing a roiling cloud of steam from within the adamantine coffin’s shadowed depths. There, within the gloom of that obscuring fog, a hundred blaring white lights lit up like radiant jewels within the crown of the God Emperor himself.

A foghorn blared, and the Titan stepped forth from its drop pod.

No one could look away. Not even veterans so old as Piotr or even the Magos Vatin could avert their gazes from the glory of the god machine. Like the Omnissiah’s own avatar the mech came forward, each step shaking the earth and carrying it hundreds of yards at a time. Even the great beast of flesh and horror’s attention was turned for a moment from its sluggish path towards the outer walls, as it considered this new prey which presented itself.

It was a Martian Warlord-class Titan, defined by the strength and elegance expressed in every facet of its monumental design. Like a brutal warrior weighed down by the weight of his own armor, the colossus was an unmistakable engine of war. Twin Volcano cannons and Mauler turrets graced its arm and shoulder-mountings, and the faint flicker about the mech’s silhouette that could be spied whenever a plume of badland dust blew by showed that its void shields were online. Yet, to Piotr at the very least, what was most remarkable was its livery. It almost seemed akin to his own Taranis red and white.

Some said that the Legio Fortidus – the Dauntless – had been obliterated millennia ago. Yet when they said that the Archmagi Chertovsky and Go possessed many grand artifacts and secretive allies, it was apparent that was but an understatement. To those defenders present, whether they understood the true significance of that Martian herald or just balked at its power, it was as though they had been delivered by the divine.

The monster of flesh shrieked like a windstorm as its counterpart in steel approached. In reply, there was a humming in the very air, and a flash of light that would have blinded all who looked on it without protection to their mortal eyes. A Volcano cannon lanced out a beam of energy that cooked the atmosphere, and with another scream of unholy rage one of the wyrm’s gangrenous tentacles was sloughed off in a shower of seared gore and running ichor.

It was breathtaking how the god machine humbled that beast of darkness just like it had humbled all the combatants of Cetus-Eta. Sir Piotr Arangia was a Knight-pilot – he was a mortal of flesh, though his ties to and respect for the arcane sciences of the Mechanicus were unbreakable. Still he could not shake one thought from his mind…

“The flesh is weak. The machine is strong.”

Another Volcano shot arced out, followed by the deafening thunder of two rotating heavy bolter turrets spraying down a hail of fire from the Titan’s mantle. For all its immense size, the wyrm was not so agile, having grown fat off all it had consumed. As it tried to haul itself across the wastes, towards the Dauntless Warlord, it could do nothing but leave behind a rancid trial of rotten effluvia as it was withered beneath the relentless fire.

As though it were giving peace to that conglomeration of so many devoured souls, the Titan did not cease its barrage until no sound – no forsaken wail or pealing roar – came from the husk of the daemonic creature. Not until it was a smoldering stain miles long, upon ground which had begun to turn to carbonized glass, did the Titan power down its blazing weaponry.

Despite the slow, sweeping pace of both those giants, it seemed as though the battle was over in an instant. Where once there had been just the promise of annihilation, by the grace of Mars did it appear as though the battle was not yet lost.

Again, that claxon voice came over the vox waves, and Piotr stood a little taller within his cockpit. The King-Slayer, in mirror, rose to a proud stance as well.

“This is Archmagos Dominus Go Zeta-06, aboard the Ark Mechanicus Worth of the Slain. Now comes the time to deploy the Legio Fortidus. My Lord-Archmagos has decreed that Hugenia shall not be sacrificed.”

Sir Piotr Arangia marveled how, even after all his years of battle in the name of the Imperium, still the Omnissiah could head his prayers.

#warhammer #40k #mechanicus #titanicus #imperial knight #taranis #fortidus

23 notes · View notes

tvranny · 5 years

Text

when u see a lgbt music rec list and u get to the “sex - mlm” section and you can literally tell from 85% of them that they’re going to be extremely cissexist and dick-centric like not to be an oversensitive son of a bitch but

#i wouldve reblogged it anyways bc there was a transitioning + dysphoria section but i can't be bothered there were like 10 songs #compared to the ions of likely cis-centric songs. like it's not something to throw a fit over any trans person is used to those #*that #excluding sort of shit. or should be used to it. and some even just can stand it regardless of whether it's excluding or not #but that aint me lol. i'm petty i guess #petty over something i'd argue is right to be a bit peeved over but still petty #but like.. anyways point is even tho it's nto something to throw a massive fit over it's definitely not worth reblogging in my eyes lol #i mean MAYBE there were some trans artists who made regular gay songs and were categorized as such #but obv not labelled as trans #and therefore would not be cissexist #but i dont care man. who gives a shit because i sure don't. not worth reblogging

0 notes

punishandenslavesuckers · 6 years

Note

Look. You will have my undying love and gratitude if you ever wrote anything ever about trans!Magnus. Because there is just not enough of it in this fandom and you're literally my fave writer here

Like literally anything. Small oneshot? Sure. Whatever. Incorporated into something else? Yeah, okay. Just anything. I’m desperate. Your writing is amazing and i hunger for any trans!Magnus content ever. (Side note: if you can’t/won’t it’s totally cool I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask and/or beg. Sorry!)

I GOT YOU FRIEND. TRANS!MAGNUS FIC. MALEC DEALS WITH A MOMENT OF DYSPHORIA BROUGHT ON BY THE WEIRD COMPLEXITIES OF MAGIC INTERFACING WITH IDENTITY:

Magnus gets into more fights than most High Warlocks.

This is one of the first things Alec learns about as he navigates the strange political and social topography of dating Magnus Bane. Among the roulette wheel of immortal faces that stand out in the Clave’s vast library of historical operators, Magnus Bane looms large. His fingerprints are everywhere now that Alec cares to look it – in their rune deployment tech, the portal system layout, the ward structures, and magic defense batteries young shadowhunters take into the field.

There’s a lot that Magnus has influenced. Henry Branwell saw to that – tying a warlock to the beating heart of the New York Institute in a way that horrified and enraged leadership back in the day.

“Brave man,” Magnus said about Henry Branwell. “There were days back then he had to bar to the door to our workroom because his colleagues wanted to come in and throw me out. One time, they were trying to kick the door down. He had to literally fistfight them in the hallway.”

“Really?

Magnus shrugged.

“That’s just how it was. It was one thing to call on warlocks in the field, it was another to really work with one. Henry was adamant that I complete my work. He kept saying, Magnus, they can’t kill you if you finish installing the ward system. They’ll be too scared that you’ll blow the place up.”

And then he laughed.

Alec Lightwood knows a lot of things about Magnus Bane.

He knows that Magnus taught shadowhunter trainees for a brief period through the eighties and nineties. He knows they pay him an average of three point five million a year to maintain the New York wards systems and the fee structure for custom portal work. He knows Magnus has fifteen recorded shadowhunter kills on file, all pre-dating the Accords or committed during the Uprising. All charges pardoned in light of circumstance. On record he said, at his court date, “Yeah, thanks.”

He knows they paid him a pittance in reparations in the nineteen twenties for the millions of dollars in property taken from him over the centuries and Alec knows Magnus Bane was one of the only warlocks ever paid a reparation amount.

Other things Alec knows:

He hates the smell of oranges. He’s ambidextrous. He’s won three national Lindy-Hop competitions under various aliases. He lies constantly about his age. He uses magic to style his hair and make-up, but when he’s stressed out, will do it by hand. He smells a little like ion when he uses magic and covers that with cosmetic charms and cologne. He can punch a hole in a brick wall without the aid of magic, but it will break all the bones in his knuckles to do it. He loses control of his aesthetic magic when he’s flustered. He likes it when Alec pushes him around a little. He chose the name Magnus Bane.

He has another name, but he’ll never tell Alec what it was.

“Why?”

“It’s dangerous and it’s not my name.”

“Oh.” A pause. “What do you mean?”

And Magnus explained it and that was that.

It’s ridiculous how fast a good night can go bad.

Magnus and Alec have a drink at a warlock-run dive bar in the Upper West Side where Magnus has a few too many gin and tonics, orders two hot fudge sundaes, and ties a cherry stem with his tongue just to show off. Then he gets in a fight with a towering warlock in town in Ireland about some ancient disagreement from the 17thcentury. Alec, as usual, isn’t sure if he should be interceding on Magnus’ behalf or not and so he kind of lurks in the backdrop of the argument, listening, waiting…

Right up until the guy from Ireland says, loudly, “Damn your dark eyes, you shifty fucker!”

And then he hits Magnus in the chest with a palmful of magic and knocks him spine-first into the bar. He hits the counter hard, the air knocked out of his lungs, body crackling with arcane lightning. He makes a choked, kind of panicked noise, his entire face screwing up until he’s unrecognizable in agony and –

Alec’s across the room, instantly.

There are five runes that activate automatically when his adrenaline spikes: haste, stamina, strength, and clarity. So the Irish warlock doesn’t see Alec coming until he brings an entire chair down across his back with full, devastating nephlim strength. Floors him cold in a that single blow. Then the world catches up to him and the whole bar is full of screaming. Alec tosses the chair aside and moves to Magnus, who’s still fetched up against the counter, clutching his chest, hanging there like his legs can’t take the weight.

“Magnus? Magnus, are you okay?”

He shakes his head. His fist is closed in the fabric of his jacket. He can’t seem to breath.

Other patrons are out of their seats, coming to check on the commotion. He can hear them muttering ‘shadowhunter’ and ‘nephlim’ and ‘what happened?’ and becomes very aware he’s the only shadowhunter in a bar full of warlocks. Magnus hooks an arm around the back of his neck, hanging his weight of Alec’s shoulders and then his mouth is against Alec’s ear, breathing static against his skin. That’s strange, Alec could have sworn Magnus had five o’clock shadow when they were kissing before but his cheek is clean shaven. What–?

“Get me out of here,” Magnus rasps. His voice sounds odd.

Alec happily obliges.

They’re in the street seconds later, Alec one-man walk assisting Magnus for a full block until the warlock gets his legs under him again. He keeps his arm around Alec, leaning on him for another few blocks before his breathing normalizes again. Is strange. Alec’s hyper-focused, the world jumping at him in pieces – the model and license plates of passing cars, the menu in a dinner window, the fact Magnus seems… lighter for a full block. That his wrist seems thinner in Alec’s grip, or his sports jacket a little too baggy.

He glances at Magnus, but he’s got his face pressed against his shoulder, so Alec can’t see his eyes or his features. He seems like he’s doing it on purpose but Alec’s worried. Magnus has magic on him still, crackling at his fingertips, in his hair.

“Magnus, what did he hit you with?”

“Cheap shot,” Magnus croaks. Again, his voice sounds wrong. “I’m okay. Give me a second.”

“Magnus. Here, let me—” He starts to reach for Magnus’ waist, his palm fitting to his ribs and sliding down to maybe grab his belt or –

“Stop! Don’t!”

Alec stops. He takes his hand back up to Magnus’ shoulder. Okay, there’s really something wrong with his voice. He doesn’t even sound like himself.

“Just… just keep walking. It’ll fade. Just…”

“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you.”

By the time they get to the end of the block, his runes are starting to disengage and Magnus’ weight feels normal again against his ribs. Magnus is shaking a little. Adrenaline shivers. He pulls away from Alec and scrubs two hands over his face, turning away from him and walking away, shoulders hunched. Alec watches him, wary, letting his boyfriend shake off whatever curse it was that other warlock hit him with. Magnus shakes his head, shakes his hands out, pats down his chest and stomach.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, okay.”

He turns back to Alec.

His eyes are gold fading into brown.

“Sorry. I wasn’t in danger. That just threw me. I’m okay.”

“You’re okay?” Alec says, not moving, not sure if he’s allowed.

“I’m okay.” Magnus extends two hands, beckoning him back. “Sorry I snapped.”

Alec moves forward, fitting his hand to Magnus’ neck and he runs his thumb along his jaw which is…yes, just a little rough under the pad of his finger. Alec studies him closely. Magnus looks like himself in the glow of the street lights and storefronts – dark, focused eyes staring calmly up at him from the ageless architecture of his face. Alec, uncertain suddenly, tentatively runs his fingers along the sharp crest of his cheekbone, following the zygomatic arch around his eye, his thumb brushing Magnus’ lips.

“I thought… for a second…?”

Magnus reaches up, gently takes his hand and squeezes it.

“Raleigh hit me with a kind of transfiguration spell.” He says this quietly, his voice rough in his throat. Familiar now, just as Alec knows it. Magnus sighs. “I think he meant to rip my cosmetic glamore off, but he’s always been stronger than he knows how to control. Particularly drunk. His magic tends to… follow the spirit of the intention rather that the letter of the spell.”

“What did he mean to do?” Alec says softly.

“Expose me, I think. But when you’re drunk, that tends to amplify an intent.” Magnus clears his throat, wiping the back of his hand across his face. “His spell hit like a hex, so I wasn’t myself for a moment there.”

“You wanna talk about it?

Magnus hesitates. “I told you about… I haven’t always been…” He trails away. He looks uncomfortable. “You know. Like this.”

“What does that have to do with –?” Alec stops.

Oh.

Magnus looks… wow, terrified. Pale. Like he’s a little sick to the stomach.

Alec swallows. Quickly calculates. He’s not sure what’s the right thing here. Maybe there is no right but… he cups the warlock’s face in his hands and smiles down at him.

“Well, like you said: you weren’t yourself. Glad to have this face back.”

He leans down, slowly, just to gauge Magnus’ expression and when he sees a kind of hopeful longing, he catches the warlock’s lips against his and kisses him. Kisses him harder. Pulling him close. He waits until Magnus kisses him back, opening is mouth against Alec so he can lean into that tempting press of tongue. And then he’s backing Magnus up against a wall between a bike shop and a café. Not because he’s so desperate for it, but so he can press his body against the familiar lines of Magnus’ legs, hips, and torso. Outline him in pressure and friction, map it out for him. Make it real. Alec drags his hands down Magnus’ chest, under his jacket, over his ribs, digging his fingers into muscle and counting out every rib.

“You good?” Alec mumurs. “You with me?”

Magnus has his arms around Alec’s neck, breathing slowly against his neck.

“Yeah.”

“See. You’re right here.” He presses Magnus against the wall, lines his hips up with Magnus, holding him there. “Feel that?”

Magnus laughs. “Yes.”

Alec kisses him, his mouth, his jaw, the arch of his adam’s apple, down along his collar bone. He keeps his hand over Magnus’ heart, his palm spread over the hard plane of his right pectoral, pressing heat there. He can feel his heart beating against his ribs. Feel every breath in his lungs rising and falling.

“I love this face,” Alec whispers. “I love you. Okay, Magnus Bane? This is you, right here.”

Magnus holds onto him. “How do you know the right things to say?”

“I don’t. I’m just guessing. Let’s get out of here and get ice cream.”

“Okay.”

Alec takes Magnus by the hand and they step off the curb into the night.

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #trans!magnus bane #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #rae writes #raewrites

128 notes · View notes

peachingboy · 7 years

Text

Boku No Hero Light Novel No.2 Trans

Chapter 1: Commence the Study Groups! (そろそろの勉強会), Part 3.

[Part 1, Part 2]

t/n: at first I didn’t think I’d get this done today but! due to the fact that bnha s2 was starting today which gave me a big motivation boost to do something bnha related and hence me plus ultra-ring through part 3! Btw I also want to say thank you to those who have left kind messages in my ask box, they really make me happy! THANK YOU <3

Kyouka is starting to get the quadratic formula’s they were going through.

“Ah I see, you can solve them like this?”

“Oh, Kyouka-san, at first glance you’ll feel like you are stuck but if you look at the question properly you will be okay.”

“As expected that’s our Yaomomo, so easy to understand!”

“Oh, please, don’t say stuff like that..”

Kyouka’s honest thoughts about Yaoyorozu made her blush happily, her explanations made it really easy for everyone to understand.

“Yaomomo-senseiiiiiiiii- How should I do this English translation?”

“Just give me a minute Ashido-san….. ah this one…”

Yaoyorozu’s standing study plan was the most perfect, each subject was carefully timetabled together, everyone’s weak point was analysed and measured. Yaoyorozu taught everyone with kindness and carefulness which made everything easy to understand too.

When they think about all the time and preparation she’d put into this, to think in the beginning they didn’t want to enter into this palace.

Because Ashido really wanted to attend the lodge for the test of courage she is aggressively trying really hard to concentrate.

“Uh, your face is gonna explode!”

However, there is already one person who has had enough, that guy is Kaminari Denki.

From the sports festival to the work placements, they’ve literally been swept away by these events, it’s bewildering and then having to come and study, the brain is going to fry if this keeps up!

“X&Y ions combination…. auxiliary verbs…. Sumerians and Crown Shock….”

“Ahhhhh! If you say anymore, I’m going to really explode!”

Even though he didn’t emit any electricity he had on his stupid facial expression. Kaminari turns towards his neighbouring Kyouka who tells him:

“Get a hold of yourself! Don’t you want to go to the lodge?”

“I doooooooo, but even Aizawa sensei said who ever gets failing marks won’t be able to attend, I even had supplementary lessons at school!”

“AHHHHHHHH…. somebody……. anybody please exchange heads with me!!”

Ojiro tried to give him some encouraging words, but the soon to be reality for Kaminari is him blowing up and sinking, because of this Ojiro felt bad and apologised for not being more sensitive.

“Kaminari-san, should we take a break soon? It’s good to have moderate breaks, it raises efficiency” Yaoyorozu suggested, just then a voice could be heard from outside the doors.

“So then…” The door opens, and the butler enters.

“As you wished, the tea has been prepared.”

“Welcome back.”

Don’t tell me, he’s just been waiting on standby all this time???

Kyouka and the gang eyes rounded at the sight of the maids reeling in a wagon with tea and cookies in front of them.

Just from the looks of it, the tea set prepared were obviously really expensive, they watched a crimson red coloured tea being poured out into the cups. The steam along with the soft aroma can be felt drifting in the air around them.

The butlers and maid left out to avoid getting in the way of their break so they quietly and quickly distributed the tea and left the lecture hall.

“Pleas everyone drink and eat up.”

Yaoyorozu acted as a cue and everyone stopped their studying and took a sip of the crimson red tea.

“The tea brewed by the maid for us…” The carefully brewed red tea rains down and stains the dry grounds of Kaminari’s heart.

“mhmm, that hit the spot!” The obviously exhausted Ashido complimented.

“Harrods? or something right?”

“Yes that’s correct, I personally love drinking this specific blend when studying, it’s produced in a different area, that’s why the blend produces a complex flavour of persimmons so when your brain becomes weary, you relax and drink this, it’ll instantly rejuvenate you.”

“ummmmmmmm…… I don’t really get what you just said but it’s delicious!”

“I don’t usually drink tea but this crimson red tea is really good!”

Sero and Ojiro appeared to be quite interested in the tea.

Ashido eyes began to shine at the tea coloured cookie she just dipped into her cup.

“This cookie looks real yummy!” The little distorted shapes on the cookies were kinda weird but nonetheless they were certain it was ordered from some fancy high end shop which had their version of stuff they’d thought would be delicious, well that’s what everyone thought as they put the cookies into their mouths.

Yaoyorozu smiled at everyone eating, waiting for the taste of nutrients (?) to hit, it was different from the usual sweet tastes, she anticipated them to taste the complex bitterness.

“……………………”

The five cocked their head slightly at the unexpected taste, at first they were stuck in a state of confusion but suddenly a strong bitter and pungent taste came rushing in their mouth with a strong hint of salted fish!

Their senses were going off, their tongues were tingling and their mouths and throat felt like it was under attack. They turned their head back to try and stop the smell of fish from getting into their nose.

“YGYGSHJSSJSGSGSGJSG”

This isn’t something people can eat, they had to trust the instinct of their tongues right now, but they were in such a fancy place, there must be a reason, they have to doubt their own tastebuds.

This must be the taste of celebs.

“What do you guys think?”

To stop themselves from puking, they pressed their hands down onto their mouth, their faces turned blue and started producing cold sweat.

Yaoyorozu suddenly notices their demise, but they five just chugged down the red tea alongside the cookies.

“Is it possible that it is not suitable to your taste?”

“Ah…h n-no it’s not like that…”

“The celeb cookie is grea—–t!”

Somehow Ojiro and Ashido managed to open their mouths to try and not hurt Yaoyorozu feelings but she becomes worried she made them eat bad cookies.

“………….?!”

Yaoyorozu’s face fills with shock.

“Wai- please excuse me for a moment..”

She presses her hand against her mouth as she becomes mildly confused.

The remaining five waited for her footsteps to distant away from them before they end up throwing the cookies away.

“uwaaaa! The taste is still in my mouth..”

“These aren’t cookies anymore, they’re weapons of mass destruction!” said Ashido as she tries to drink out the taste with her tea.

Kaminari was still staring suspiciously at the cookie.

“But this really woke us up right? It got me in one shot!”

Following on from what Kaminari said, Ojiro mentions with a serious expression.

“I really had to work up the courage to take bite it once.”

Kyouka also downing her tea played lookout and kept her eyes fixed on the door.

“I wonder if Yaomomo tasted something weird, she did look confuse?”

“Ah, it doesn’t matter, she’s going to return soon.”

However, it was the opposite to what Kaminari said, it didn’t seem like Yaoyorozu was going to come back any time soon. But they can’t resume their tutoring with a teacher however, they thought with concentration, motivation and a different mindset they could atleast try,

But Kyouka couldn’t function with the smell still lingering, she’s still trying to get rid of the taste that is still swimming in her mouth with the tea.

“Wait a minute guys, I’m gonna head to the toilet”

“Ah, me too! I need to go too, I drank way too much!”

Both Kyouka and Ashido get up and opened the door, there was a maid on standby for anything they might need.

They had to hurry as the urge to pee was unreal, the long corridor playing music did not help either and Ashido was about to burst!

“fuaa- I made it!

“It’s tough because this place is so wide!”

The two exit after washing their hands both with refreshed smiling faces, suddenly they both stopped.

“Ah…. which way was back again?”

“oh.. god”

Right or left, no matter which way they look it’s just the same continuous long corridor! It feels like they came from the right but it also feels like they came from the left.

Kyouka was embarassed about the maid waiting in front of the toilet so she sent her away, now who was going to make sure they returned back okay?

“I don’t think she’s coming, let’s just go which ever!”

“Huh?!…. wait!”

Ashido simply suggested turning to the right based on only intuition, Kyouka was unsure but followed anyways.

“They’re late…. did those guys get lost or something?” Sero asked with a laughing face, Ojiro agrees with an eyebrow raise.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they got lost, look at this place.”

“But the maid would be there to bring them back right? They should be okay, no?”

“Nah, I think so too” Ojiro smiles. While Ojiro and Sero were conversing, Kaminari planted his face down into his notebook and started rubbing it around.

“…………………”

He wiggles the top half of his body like a giant worm, Sero and Ojiro couldn’t help but notice, they exchange looks and then watched Kaminari’s head, Sero with a calming voice asks;

“Dude, what did you just do?”

“I’m trying to get the knowledge to enter my head.”

“Dude, I don’t think that’s going to work, you’d probably lose more knowledge like that” Sero calmly pointed out as the teary eyed Kaminari raises his head.

“sooooooooooo what should I doooooooooo?!”

“Try and study normally.. don’t you think?”

“My brain has reached its limit!…. Limit!!! If I don’t get one more letter into me… uhhh….hu…good bye lodge camp… hello supplementary lesson hell.”

Even his dreams of having tea made by maids before couldn’t stop Kaminari from going into give up mode, Kaminari is just doing whatever now.

Ojiro and Sero tries their best to console him.

“I-it’s gonna be okay man! There’s still plenty of time elft!”

“Y-yeahh… Yeahh! That’s right! If we just focus hard enough we can surpass any difficulties! Remember the school’s motto!”

“PLUS ULTRA!”

“….Even if I can’t remember one more letter?”

It didn’t look like Kaminari’s give up mode was going to end anytime soon, this went against his usual positive attitude. I guess the studying and it’s stress really changes you negatively!

“Hey, you can definitely plus ultra that last letter can’t you?”

“Yeah, what Ojiro said, you can totally power through the last word! Don’t you want to attend the lodge camp?!”

His classmates kind, encouraging words had Kaminari’s stuck gears slowly moving again.

“………y-you’re right! I just need to power through this last letter!” said Kaminari as his eyes fell upon his English text book and its tightly packed lines of English letters.

From A to Z he tries to line up the letters in a formation he’d like and was able t to read from.

pa———–n, Kaminari bursts a brain cell!

“ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! I can’t I can’t I can’t!” Kaminari tries to escape from the reality as he covers his ears from Ojiro and Sero’s worrying words.

The world is cruel, he remembers the ridiculing from Mineta Minoru from a few days ago.

-When push comes to shove, you gotta do what you gotta do…

“….ha”

Kaminari lets out a dry laugh, the days before it was Kaminari who kept bragging to Mineta about going to study at Yaoyorozu’s house.

“Ay, you alright there dude?”

“Man,, you seem pretty tired, maybe you should call it a day and head home to bed?” suggested Ojiro and Sero who were seriously concerned Kaminari probably over studied.

Kaminari with a bitter smile said, “You’re wrong, Mineta… that guy… he said studying at Yaoyorozu would be helpless… that I should cheat… I keep remembering those words”

“Ha…ha, if you cheat you won’t be able to attend the lodge camp, don’t even think about that conversation with Mineta.”

“you’d get expelled dude!” Ojiro and Sero laughs together, Kaminari laughs too.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Kaminari looks at the reflection on Sero’s arm. Sero’s quirk allows him to shoot tape from his elbows which he can control freely and draw back whenever, it’s an extremely high-tier, useful quirk. And then Kaminari suddenly remembers the class seating order, Kaminari sits diagonally behind Sero’s seat.

“hahaha….ha…. no that can’t be right….”

“hah?”

Ojiro and Sero stared at him with puzzled faces as his laugh disappeared and his frightening voices draws near to them.

t/n next part switches back to bakushima and teaser note they visit a drinks bar after escaping the library lmfao fun times, once again dependent on my speed I’ll try to post it asap.

btw pls check my acc from time to time for updates, I thought at first I could just go back to my previous updates and post links to new parts but it’s actually really troublesome to do so, so please pop back every now and then to check for updates.

And last but not least, bring on season two!

#boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #light novel #translation

191 notes · View notes

sheisreflectionofwisdom · 7 years

Text

Evidence for Intelligent Design from Biochemistry by Michael J. Behe, Discovery Institute

A Series of Eyes How do we see? In the 19th century the anatomy of the eye was known in great detail, and its sophisticated features astounded everyone who was familiar with them. Scientists of the time correctly observed that if a person were so unfortunate as to be missing one of the eye's many integrated features, such as the lens, or iris, or ocular muscles, the inevitable result would be a severe loss of vision or outright blindness. So it was concluded that the eye could only function if it were nearly intact. Charles Darwin knew about the eye too. In the Origin of Species, Darwin dealt with many objections to his theory of evolution by natural selection. He discussed the problem of the eye in a section of the book appropriately entitled "Organs of extreme perfection and complication." Somehow, for evolution to be believable, Darwin had to convince the public that complex organs could be formed gradually, in a step-by-step process. He succeeded brilliantly. Cleverly, Darwin didn't try to discover a real pathway that evolution might have used to make the eye. Instead, he pointed to modern animals with different kinds of eyes, ranging from the simple to the complex, and suggested that the evolution of the human eye might have involved similar organs as intermediates. Here is a paraphrase of Darwin's argument. Although humans have complex camera-type eyes, many animals get by with less. Some tiny creatures have just a simple group of pigmented cells, or not much more than a light sensitive spot. That simple arrangement can hardly be said to confer vision, but it can sense light and dark, and so it meets the creature's needs. The light-sensing organ of some starfishes is somewhat more sophisticated. Their eye is located in a depressed region. This allows the animal to sense which direction the light is coming from, since the curvature of the depression blocks off light from some directions. If the curvature becomes more pronounced, the directional sense of the eye improves. But more curvature lessens the amount of light that enters the eye, decreasing its sensitivity. The sensitivity can be increased by placement of gelatinous material in the cavity to act as a lens. Some modern animals have eyes with such crude lenses. Gradual improvements in the lens could then provide an image of increasing sharpness, as the requirements of the animal's environment dictated. Using reasoning like this, Darwin convinced many of his readers that an evolutionary pathway leads from the simplest light sensitive spot to the sophisticated camera-eye of man. But the question remains, how did vision begin? Darwin persuaded much of the world that a modern eye evolved gradually from a simpler structure, but he did not even try to explain where his starting point for the simple light sensitive spot came from. On the contrary, Darwin dismissed the question of the eye's ultimate origin: How a nerve comes to be sensitive to light hardly concerns us more than how life itself originated. He had an excellent reason for declining the question: it was completely beyond nineteenth century science. How the eye works; that is, what happens when a photon of light first hits the retina simply could not be answered at that time. As a matter of fact, no question about the underlying mechanisms of life could be answered. How did animal muscles cause movement? How did photosynthesis work? How was energy extracted from food? How did the body fight infection? No one knew. To Darwin vision was a black box, but today, after the hard, cumulative work of many biochemists, we are approaching answers to the question of sight. Here is a brief overview of the biochemistry of vision. When light first strikes the retina, a photon interacts with a molecule called 11-cis-retinal, which rearranges within picoseconds to trans-retinal. The change in the shape of retinal forces a change in the shape of the protein, rhodopsin, to which the retinal is tightly bound. The protein's metamorphosis alters its behavior, making it stick to another protein called transducin. Before bumping into activated rhodopsin, transducin had tightly bound a small molecule called GDP. But when transducin interacts with activated rhodopsin, the GDP falls off and a molecule called GTP binds to transducin. (GTP is closely related to, but critically different from, GDP.) GTP-transducin-activated rhodopsin now binds to a protein called phosphodiesterase, located in the inner membrane of the cell. When attached to activated rhodopsin and its entourage, the phosphodiesterase acquires the ability to chemically cut a molecule called cGMP (a chemical relative of both GDP and GTP). Initially there are a lot of cGMP molecules in the cell, but the phosphodiesterase lowers its concentration, like a pulled plug lowers the water level in a bathtub. Another membrane protein that binds cGMP is called an ion channel. It acts as a gateway that regulates the number of sodium ions in the cell. Normally the ion channel allows sodium ions to flow into the cell, while a separate protein actively pumps them out again. The dual action of the ion channel and pump keeps the level of sodium ions in the cell within a narrow range. When the amount of cGMP is reduced because of cleavage by the phosphodiesterase, the ion channel closes, causing the cellular concentration of positively charged sodium ions to be reduced. This causes an imbalance of charge across the cell membrane which, finally, causes a current to be transmitted down the optic nerve to the brain. The result, when interpreted by the brain, is vision. My explanation is just a sketchy overview of the biochemistry of vision. Ultimately, though, this is what it means to "explain" vision. This is the level of explanation for which biological science must aim. In order to truly understand a function, one must understand in detail every relevant step in the process. The relevant steps in biological processes occur ultimately at the molecular level, so a satisfactory explanation of a biological phenomenon such as vision, or digestion, or immunity must include its molecular explanation. Now that the black box of vision has been opened it is no longer enough for an "evolutionary explanation" of that power to consider only the anatomical structures of whole eyes, as Darwin did in the nineteenth century, and as popularizers of evolution continue to do today. Each of the anatomical steps and structures that Darwin thought were so simple actually involves staggeringly complicated biochemical processes that cannot be papered over with rhetoric. Darwin's simple steps are now revealed to be huge leaps between carefully tailored machines. Thus biochemistry offers a Lilliputian challenge to Darwin. Now the black box of the cell has been opened and a Lilliputian world of staggering complexity stands revealed. It must be explained. Irreducible Complexity How can we decide if Darwin's theory can account for the complexity of molecular life? It turns out that Darwin himself set the standard. He acknowledged that: If it could be demonstrated that any complex organ existed which could not possibly have been formed by numerous, successive, slight modifications, my theory would absolutely break down. But what type of biological system could not be formed by "numerous, successive, slight modifications"? Well, for starters, a system that is irreducibly complex. Irreducible complexity is just a fancy phrase I use to mean a single system which is composed of several interacting parts, and where the removal of any one of the parts causes the system to cease functioning. Let's consider an everyday example of irreducible complexity: the humble mousetrap. The mousetraps that my family uses consist of a number of parts. There are: 1) a flat wooden platform to act as a base; 2) a metal hammer, which does the actual job of crushing the little mouse; 3) a spring with extended ends to press against the platform and the hammer when the trap is charged; 4) a sensitive catch which releases when slight pressure is applied, and 5) a metal bar which connects to the catch and holds the hammer back when the trap is charged. Now you can't catch a few mice with just a platform, add a spring and catch a few more mice, add a holding bar and catch a few more. All the pieces of the mousetrap have to be in place before you catch any mice. Therefore the mousetrap is irreducibly complex. An irreducibly complex system cannot be produced directly by numerous, successive, slight modifications of a precursor system, because any precursor to an irreducibly complex system that is missing a part is by definition nonfunctional. An irreducibly complex biological system, if there is such a thing, would be a powerful challenge to Darwinian evolution. Since natural selection can only choose systems that are already working, then if a biological system cannot be produced gradually it would have to arise as an integrated unit, in one fell swoop, for natural selection to have anything to act on. Demonstration that a system is irreducibly complex is not a proof that there is absolutely no gradual route to its production. Although an irreducibly complex system can't be produced directly, one can't definitively rule out the possibility of an indirect, circuitous route. However, as the complexity of an interacting system increases, the likelihood of such an indirect route drops precipitously. And as the number of unexplained, irreducibly complex biological systems increases, our confidence that Darwin's criterion of failure has been met skyrockets toward the maximum that science allows. The Cilium Now, are any biochemical systems irreducibly complex? Yes, it turns out that many are. A good example is the cilium. Cilia are hairlike structures on the surfaces of many animal and lower plant cells that can move fluid over the cell's surface or "row" single cells through a fluid. Inhumans, for example, cells lining the respiratory tract each have about 200 cilia that beat in synchrony to sweep mucus towards the throat for elimination. What is the structure of a cilium? A cilium consists of bundle of fibers called an axoneme. An axoneme contains a ring of 9 double "microtubules" surrounding two central single microtubules. Each outer doublet consists of a ring of 13 filaments (subfiber A) fused to an assembly of 10 filaments (subfiber B). The filaments of the microtubules are composedof two proteins called alpha and beta tubulin. The 11 microtubules forming an axoneme are held together by three types of connectors: subfibers A are joined to the central microtubules by radial spokes; adjacent outer doublets are joined by linkers of a highly elastic protein called nexin; and the central microtubules are joined by a connecting bridge. Finally, every subfiber A bears two arms, an inner arm and an outer arm, both containing a protein called dynein. But how does a cilium work? Experiments have shown that ciliary motion results from the chemically-powered "walking" of the dynein arms on one microtubule up a second microtubule so that the two microtubules slide past each other. The protein cross-links between microtubules in a cilium prevent neighboring microtubules from sliding past each other by more than a short distance. These cross-links, therefore, convert the dynein-induced sliding motion to a bending motion of the entire axoneme. Now, let us consider what this implies. What components are needed for a cilium to work? Ciliary motion certainly requires microtubules; otherwise, there would be no strands to slide. Additionally we require a motor, or else the microtubules of the cilium would lie stiff and motionless. Furthermore, we require linkers to tug on neighboring strands, converting the sliding motion into a bending motion, and preventing the structure from falling apart. All of these parts are required to perform one function: ciliary motion. Just as a mousetrap does not work unless all of its constituent parts are present, ciliary motion simply does not exist in the absence of microtubules, connectors, and motors. Therefore, we can conclude that the cilium is irreducibly complex; an enormous monkey wrench thrown into its presumed gradual, Darwinian evolution. Blood Clotting Now let's talk about a different biochemical system of blood clotting. Amusingly, the way in which the blood clotting system works is reminiscent of a Rube Goldberg machine. The name of Rube Goldberg; the great cartoonist who entertained America with his silly machines, lives on in our culture, but the man himself has pretty much faded from view. Here's a typical example of his humor. In this cartoon Goldberg imagined a system where water from a drain-pipe fills a flask, causing a cork with attached needle to rise and puncture a paper cup containing beer, which sprinkles on a bird. The intoxicated bird falls onto a spring, bounces up to a platform, and pulls a string thinking it's a worm. The string triggers a cannon which frightens a dog. The dog flips over, and his rapid breathing raises and lowers a scratcher over a mosquito bite, causing no embarrassment while talking to a lady. When you think about it for a moment you realize that the Rube Goldberg machine is irreducibly complex. It is a single system which is composed of several interacting parts, and where the removal of any one of the parts causes the system to break down. If the dog is missing the machine doesn't work; if the needle hasn't been put on the cork, the whole system is useless. It turns out that we all have Rube Goldberg in our blood. Here's a picture of a cell trapped in a clot. The meshwork is formed from a protein called fibrin. But what controls blood clotting? Why does blood clot when you cut yourself, but not at other times when a clot would cause a stroke or heart attack? Here's a diagram of what's called the blood clotting cascade. Let's go through just some of the reactions of clotting. When an animal is cut a protein called Hageman factor sticks to the surface of cells near the wound. Bound Hageman factor is then cleaved by a protein called HMK to yield activated Hageman factor. Immediately the activated Hageman factor converts another protein, called prekallikrein, to its active form, kallikrein. Kallikrein helps HMK speed up the conversion of more Hageman factor to its active form. Activated Hageman factor and HMK then together transform another protein, called PTA, to its active form. Activated PTA in turn, together with the activated form of another protein (discussed below) called convertin, switch a protein called Christmas factor to its active form. Activated Christmas factor, together with antihemophilic factor (which is itself activated by thrombin in a manner similar to that of proaccelerin) changes Stuart factor to its active form. Stuart factor,working with accelerin, converts prothrombin to thrombin. Finally thrombin cuts fibrinogen to give fibrin, which aggregates with other fibrin molecules to form the meshwork clot you saw in the last picture. Blood clotting requires extreme precision. When a pressurized blood circulation system is punctured, a clot must form quickly or the animal will bleed to death. On the other hand, if blood congeals at the wrong time or place, then the clot may block circulation as it does in heart attacks and strokes. Furthermore, a clot has to stop bleeding all along the length of the cut, sealing it completely. Yet blood clotting must be confined to the cut or the entire blood system of the animal might solidify, killing it. Consequently, clotting requires this enormously complex system so that the clot forms only when and only where it is required. Blood clotting is the ultimate Rube Goldberg machine. The Professional Literature Other examples of irreducible complexity abound in the cell, including aspects of protein transport, the bacterial flagellum, electron transport, telomeres, photosynthesis, transcription regulation, and much more. Examples of irreducible complexity can be found on virtually every page of a biochemistry textbook. But if these things cannot be explained by Darwinian evolution, how has the scientific community regarded these phenomena of the past forty years? A good place to look for an answer to that question is in the Journal of Molecular Evolution. JME is a journal that was begun specifically to deal with the topic of how evolution occurs on the molecular level. It has high scientific standards, and is edited by prominent figures in the field. In a recent issue of JME there were published eleven articles; of these, all eleven were concerned simply with the comparison of protein or DNA sequences. A sequence comparison is an amino acid-by-amino acid comparison of two different proteins, or a nucleotide-by-nucleotide comparison of two different pieces of DNA, noting the positions at which they are identical or similar, and the places where they are not. Although useful for determining possible lines of descent, which is an interesting question in its own right, comparing sequences cannot show how a complex biochemical system achieved its function; the question that most concerns us here. By way of analogy, the instruction manuals for two different models of computer putout by the same company might have many identical words, sentences, and even paragraphs, suggesting a common ancestry (perhaps the same author wrote both manuals), but comparing the sequences of letters in the instruction manuals will never tell us if a computer can be produced step by step starting from a typewriter. None of the papers discussed detailed models for intermediates in the development of complex biomolecular structures. In the past ten years JME has published over a thousand papers. Of these, about one hundred discussed the chemical synthesis of molecules thought to be necessary for the origin of life, about 50 proposed mathematical models to improve sequence analysis, and about 800 were analyses of sequences. There were ZERO papers discussing detailed models for intermediates in the development of complex biomolecular structures. This is not a peculiarity of JME. No papers are to be found that discuss detailed models for intermediates in the development of complex biomolecular structures in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Science, Nature, Science, the Journal of Molecular Biology or, to my knowledge, any science journal whatsoever. "Publish or perish" is a proverb that academicians take seriously. If you do not publish your work for the rest of the community to evaluate, then you have no business in academia and, if you don't already have tenure, you will be banished. But the saying can be applied to theories as well. If a theory claims to be able to explain some phenomenon but does not generate even an attempt at an explanation, then it should be banished. Despite comparing sequences, molecular evolution has never addressed the question of how complex structures came to be. In effect, the theory of Darwinian molecular evolution has not published, and so it should perish. Detection of Design What's going on? Imagine a room in which a body lies crushed, flat as a pancake. A dozen detectives crawl around, examining the floor with magnifying glasses for any clue to the identity of the perpetrator. In the middle of the room next to the body stands a large, gray elephant. The detectives carefully avoid bumping into the pachyderm's legs as they crawl, and never even glance at it. Over time the detectives get frustrated with their lack of progress but resolutely press on, looking even more closely at the floor. You see, textbooks say detectives must "get their man," so they never consider elephants. There is an elephant in the roomful of scientists who are trying to explain the development of life. The elephant is labeled "intelligent design." To a person who does not feel obliged to restrict his search to unintelligent causes, the straightforward conclusion is that many biochemical systems were designed. They were designed not by the laws of nature, not by chance and necessity. Rather, they were planned. The designer knew what the systems would look like when they were completed; the designer took steps to bring the systems about. Life on earth at its most fundamental level, in its most critical components, is the product of intelligent activity. The conclusion of intelligent design flows naturally from the data itself, not from sacred books or sectarian beliefs. Inferring that biochemical systems were designed by an intelligent agent is a humdrum process that requires no new principles of logic or science. It comes simply from the hard work that biochemistry has done over the past forty years, combined with consideration of the way in which we reach conclusions of design every day. What is "design"? Design is simply the purposeful arrangement of parts. The scientific question is how we detect design. This can be done in various ways, but design can most easily be inferred for mechanical objects. While walking through a junkyard you might observe separated bolts and screws and bits of plastic and glass, most scattered, some piled on top of each other, some wedged together. Suppose you saw a pile that seemed particularly compact, and when you picked up a bar sticking out of the pile, the whole pile came along with it. When you pushed on the bar it slid smoothly to one side of the pile and pulled an attached chain along with it. The chain in turn yanked a gear which turned three other gears which turned a red-and-white striped rod, spinning it like a barber pole. You quickly conclude that the pile was not a chance accumulation of junk, but was designed, was put together in that order by an intelligent agent, because you see that the components of the system interact with great specificity to do something. It is not only artificial mechanical systems for which design can easily be concluded. Systems made entirely from natural components can also evince design. For example, suppose you are walking with a friend in the woods. All of a sudden your friend is pulled high in the air and left dangling by his foot from a vine attached to a tree branch. After cutting him down you reconstruct the trap. You see that the vine was wrapped around the tree branch, and the end pulled tightly down to the ground. It was securely anchored to the ground by a forked branch. The branch was attached to another vine, hidden by leaves so that, when the trigger-vine was disturbed, it would pull down the forked stick, releasing the spring-vine. The end of the vine formed a loop with a slipknot to grab an appendage and snap it up into the air. Even though the trap was made completely of natural materials you would quickly conclude that it was the product of intelligent design. A Complicated World A word of caution; intelligent design theory has to be seen in context: it does not try to explain everything. We live in a complex world where lots of different things can happen. When deciding how various rocks came to be shaped the way they are a geologist might consider a whole range of factors: rain, wind, the movement of glaciers, the activity of moss and lichens, volcanic action, nuclear explosions, asteroid impact, or the hand of a sculptor. The shape of one rock might have been determined primarily by one mechanism, the shape of another rock by another mechanism. The possibility of a meteor's impact does not mean that volcanos can be ignored; the existence of sculptors does not mean that many rocks are not shaped by weather. Similarly, evolutionary biologists have recognized that a number of factors might have affected the development of life: common descent, natural selection, migration, population size, founder effects (effects that may be due to the limited number of organisms that begin a new species), genetic drift (spread of neutral, nonselective mutations), gene flow (the incorporation of genes into a population from a separate population), linkage (occurrence of two genes on the same chromosome), meiotic drive (the preferential selection during sex cell production of one of the two copies of a gene inherited from an organism's parents), transposition (the transfer of a gene between widely separated species by non-sexual means), and much more. The fact that some biochemical systems were designed by an intelligent agent does not mean that any of the other factors are not operative, common, or important. Curiouser and Curiouser So as this talk concludes we are left with what many people feel to be a strange conclusion: that life was designed by an intelligent agent. In a way, though, all of the progress of science over the last several hundred years has been a steady march toward the strange. People up until the middle ages lived in a natural world. The stable earth was at the center of things; the sun, moon, and stars circled endlessly to give light by day and night; the same plants and animals had been known since antiquity. Surprises were few. Then it was proposed, absurdly, that the earth itself moved, spinning while it circled the sun. No one could feel the earth spinning; no one could see it. But spin it did. From our modern vantage it's hard to realize what an assault on the senses was perpetrated by Copernicus and Galileo; they said in effect that people could no longer rely on even the evidence of their eyes. Things got steadily worse over the years. With the discovery of fossils it became apparent that the familiar animals of field and forest had not always been on earth; the world had once been inhabited by huge, alien creatures who were now gone. Sometime later Darwin shook the world by arguing that the familiar biota was derived from the bizarre, vanished life over lengths of time incomprehensible to human minds. Einstein told us that space is curved and time is relative. Modern physics says that solid objects are mostly space, that sub atomic particles have no definite position, that the universe had a beginning. Now it's the turn of the fundamental science of life, modern biochemistry, to disturb. The simplicity that was once expected to be the foundation of life has proven to be a phantom. Instead, systems of horrendous, irreducible complexity inhabit the cell. The resulting realization that life was designed by an intelligence is a shock to us in the twentieth century who have gotten used to thinking of life as the result of simple natural laws. But other centuries have had their shocks and there is no reason to suppose that we should escape them. Humanity has endured as the center of the heavens moved from the earth to beyond the sun, as the history of life expanded to encompass long-dead reptiles, as the eternal universe proved mortal. We will endure the opening of Darwin's black box. Michael J. Behe is Associate Professor of Chemistry at Lehigh University in Pennsylvania and a Fellow of the Discovery Institute’s Center for Renewal of Science & Culture.

#science #intelligentdesign #there is a Creator #God exists #God is NOT dead #God made science #science points to a Creator #everything is designed intelligently #Jesus #Jesus is GOD

0 notes