Ahriman hated it here. Every single step through the blasted, never-changing planet spiked self-worry and doubt within his soul. Every now and again, he'd turn his head to check behind him, reassured by the fact that the Progidal Sons marched in perfect silence behind him. The two head Aspiring Sorcerers, Ikep and Torian, mentally saluted and acknowledged the Arch-Sorcerer as they continued to advance. With a steady inhale, Ahriman willed his way into the Main City.
The first plaza was filled with them. Absolutely filled with them. The horned helmet of the Exile tilted from side-to-side as he took in auras as well as visible details of each and everyone of those present. Thousand Son Sorcerers who bore the colours of Magnus' Elite moved around the edge of his vision, carrying scrolls and grimoires between building and portal. Tzaangors preached in their gangs, their leaders sqwarking in some form of dialect to the sky to which was only echoed by their kin. Rubricae stood in silence at specific way-points, their bolters held to their chest and their stance absolute.
The thought process spasmed into Ahriman's mind as quickly as it was forced and confined, the memory of the Capital of Propsero being sealed behind a door and locked with a key that only he knew. Steeling himself, the Exile rose the Black Staff before him, the crowds around him ceasing from their daily acts to witness him. With a few muffled syllables, Ahriman made himself known throughout the entire city. His aura was broadcast throughout the Warp, pushing through mental barriers and psychic deadlocks to authentically warded homes and libraries.
The mental backlash caught him off-guard.
Portals breached reality all around him. Mystical whites blurred into blues and red hues, while others sparked with green and black lightning which scorched the never-changing cobblestones with their presence. Others appeared as the form of specters and multi-coloured birds of prey. The one that forced Ahriman's interest upon him, however, appeared as a swarm of Propserian beetles, which grew into the form of the Exalted Sorcerer known as Kabel. With a sudden tap of Kabel's staff Ahriman felt nine-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety nine pairs of eyes upon him, all judging and hating in synergy.
"What has a Traitor's business to do with Sortiarius? What has an Exile's need from us?"
"I was requested." Ahriman's reply came out sharp and quick. A well practiced tone followed by a curt nod, the polite method of greeting within the old walls of Tizca. Beneath Kabel's helmet, Ahriman knew the creature smirked as scenario after scenario was played between the fleshy layers of his skull. The Exile waited patiently.
"There was no request. Not from any of the Council. No-one from our kind wants to bear your presence, Ahriman."
The words were designed to hit home but they clearly missed Ahzek, his head tilting only slight as his Cabal moved up behind him. In sync, the summoned Exalted moved beside Kabel, aura's flaring up throughout the psychic network as the guesswork and planning eclipsed the actual desire to fight. With a wave of his gloved hand, Ahriman discarded the comment and continued.
"I was summoned. Our Father wishes to speak to m-"
"Our Father wishes for no-one such as you. You ruined us, Ahriman. You brought our Legion to ruin and now you have the audacity to return? You have no permission, no authority and no summon! Begone from this place, before we, the Third Eye, remove you and all of your misfits!"
Arcane tensions built up. The mutated beastmen skirted around the gathering, picking sides based on the relics and favour they held. Rubricae left their posts as willed, their bolters levelling up towards the Progidal Sons while Sorcerers' prepared their spells for encase of the worse. Ahriman's perception bounced to every mystic within thirty yards of him and his warband, reading the flares of their souls and the energies they were ready to harness. He blinked a few times before once again trying to continue.
"Fine. Our Father wishes to scold me for such pathetic attempts that he could, of course, do with a mere flick of his wrist. Our Father wishes to scream down his never-ending pain upon my soul in return for what I did to this very Legion. Our Father has summoned me due to this, and you will take me to him, Kabel."
Kabel's aura switched from a cold, calculated white and dark blue to a mixed rampage of green, red and black as Ahriman's final command hit home. His arms erupted in warpfire before pointing them directly towards the Exile with the intent to incinerate the over-dramatic whelp from this plane of existence. His flames died out as Ahzek just looked towards him, the Black Staff resting against the ground at his side. No aggression was shown, just patience.
"Just take me to our Fa-"
"You. Ruined. Our. Legion. You will not do the same again! You are nothing, now, Ahriman! Not the Captain of the First Fellowship. Not the Templi Magisti of the Cordivae. Not the Saviour of Prospero. And not the Lord of whom we shall take commands from! You are nothing, Ahriman. You are a Traitor, a Thief and a Failure to all of your family and brothers!"
To start, anyone who bore witness to this conversation wouldn't notice the change in the Exile's mood. His gloved hand gripped the Black Staff a little, to which was a sign to any of his Warband to remain resolute and out of the way. The horned helmet kept his glare upon Kabel who had just vented out towards him, the two green dots of the eye-lenses staring ever forward. With a twitch of his left hand, Ahriman began, his aura suddenly much more open than he'd like.
"I. Did. What. I. Had. To. Do. You pathetic whelps and creations of the Warp would never be able to even comprehend that! Each and every one of you, from Rubricae to Sorcerer was made due to MY SACRIFICE! I pledged throughout my entire existence to burn our Legion free of the Flesh Change. I promised thousands upon thousands of souls that I would find the cure. But no. Progress is deemed too heretical in the eyes of people who would be called such. You are all here because of me! You are all here because of what I did to save my Legion, what I did to cleanse of us all of mutation! And instead, you stand here now, instead of praising me as the one who ELEVATED you to the point of where your power is unrivaled, due to MY SPELL, you instead think you have the audacity, the urge, the need to come to MY face and demand that I, not you, I leave?!"
Ahriman's helm looked around for the moment, taking in the view for a few milliseconds before returning the verbal and mental assault on every damn Psyker within the city. For tens of miles, Sorcerers would cease their study and sit upright, would stop in their daily tasks and would sit and listen to the Warp tether them to this event. For miles, Thousand Sons Rubricae and Scarab Occult turned their helmets to the direction of the debate; unable to hear or understand but enough to recognise the whereabouts.
Time stopped to allow Ahzek to breathe. Tension made it move again.
"I am here not by my own merit, but that of OUR FATHER. Our PRIMARCH. He who EXILED ME wishes for MY PRESENCE to be felt. If I came here of my own accord, Kabel, I would have come with a much larger force and many more willful adepts. I would come with the intent to remove the Rubric from every Sorcerer within this pathetic attempt to remember Tizca. I would enlighten thousands by just snuffing out every rival with even an ounce of wit and remove their presence from the Warp all-together. I would push my way to Magnus' throne room and demand repayment for every soul I have made suffer just to save one of his. I would be here for War if I came on my own accord, not to just speak with our Father."
Ikep and Torian, the two Progidal Sons Sorcerers didn't move during that entire roar of emotion, their weapons resting on the pommels of their Khopesh Swords while waiting for the command to be ushered through their minds. With silence, however, they were commanded otherwise and their hands slipped to their sides.
"I will see our Father now."
With a few passing seconds, Kabel nodded to Ahriman and began to walk away, the Third Eye moving away in synergy as the Exile made the steps to follow. With a few mental tugs, the rest of the Progidal Sons went with, their weapons held high with the pride that only Ahriman could understand.