To meet a shard of himself was something that still confused him to this day, but even the Emperor knew his moments of weakness. Especially with himself. With what focus he could sacrifice, the Golden God would have the possibility to feel a presence much like his own, and a voice that echoed in his mind upon the Throne.
" I can only presume what is on your mind, fellow Shard of mine. I cannot offer much assistance in my state... but I can offer an embrace with the energy I have. "
Ten thousand years have passed and the ancient, the man with many names, the savior of humanity, the destroyer of all mankind, opens his glowing golden eyes.
The smell of immolation flavors his first breath, the smell of charred flesh and bone, the smell of molten metal, the smell of hope burned to ash. Without his gilded armor, he is naked. Without his flaming blade, he is powerless.
He rises to his feet, looking at his own flesh before taking in the devastation around him. His left arm is no longer the bronze it once was; it is pale, discolored and beset by lengthy ropy scars. So is his belly, his throat, and half his face.
This shouldn't be possible.
This isn't his first rebirth, nor would it be his last. With every resurrection, he rise again in a flawless form unmarred by the engagements of his previous life.
A battle that raged across time and space.
White feathers stained crimson.
The wounds he collected were soul-deep now. They would never leave him no matter how many times he rises again.
Ashes rain down from the sky as the man once called Emperor takes in the horrific sight. He stands in a pit of volcanic glass, walls towering about him. The walls of the chasm made the giant among men feel pitifully small.
The screams of trillions ringing out throughout an overcrowded planet all going silent simultaneously.
"Terra." He finds himself saying aloud.
Words felt foreign on his lips. The act of making sound should not have been new to him, but it was. For ten thousand years, he was without a voice, without a face. He was the god-in-chains. the divine prisoner forced to bear the weight of the zealous upon his unwilling back.
This is black-glass pit, he has never felt so desperately alone.
And in his hour of need, something strange happens. A light began to shine a few yards away. This light is alien yet familiar, painfully familiar.
It was his aura, his psychic signature bursting into being before his eyes. But he did not make this. He surely would have known if he did.
The light fades and from out of it steps his mirror image haloed in gold.
"I can only presume what is on your mind, fellow Shard of mine. I cannot offer much assistance in my state... but I can offer an embrace with the energy I have. "
"How?" Is the only word he can summon up in response.
