/tg/ Heresy Writefaggotry

This article or section has been selected for Exterminatus by the Ordo Editant. The Emperor Corrects.

This page details people, events, and organisations from The /tg/ Heresy, a fan re-working of the Warhammer 40,000 Universe.

This page is dedicated to all those contributors who are either with the project or have left. Be warned, some of this stuff is outdated. Check the actual pages of the Legions and other stuff mentioned to get the full picture and all of the truth.

Writefaggotry

Many writefags free time was lost to bring us this...

Assembled stories, snippets, and bits from the threads.

Before the Crusade

Praise to Chaos

First and last, the Lord of Decay
Borne unto us under sickly skies of green
Ushered in to this world on seven dying breathes
Your birth cries were a balm of laughter

To you we owe eternity our stalwart friend
Who takes our pain and soothes our souls
Who shepherds our souls to the everlasting
We bless you Nurgle

Second born, the Changer of Ways
Within the womb of thunderous blue you could not wait
With naught but nine whispers you were free
A beacon of hope against the dark

To you we owe all wisdom our secret master
Who showed us the hope and sorcery
Who took our feeble forms and made them better
We bless you Tzeentch

Third born, Taker of Skulls
Your womb was a world drowned in red
Cut free from its flesh by eight empires
Your screams proclaimed your might

To you we owe power our mighty champion
Who blessed us with us with the strength to challenge
Who forged us the way of honor
We bless you Khorne

Fourth but not Final, the Prince of Pleasure
Your unborn slumber roused by pink flesh writhing in ecstasy
Waiting no more you took six perfected masters as your own
Your majesty stilled the cosmos

To you we owe all delights our perfected noble
Who polished our souls unto glory
Who takes us to revel in bliss
We bless you Slaanesh

Not all gods have been born to us the blessed
Three more slumber unborn; their hour not yet here
But if you listen their cries can be heard
Jostling in their cosmic womb for their chance

The Golden Tyrant, for you we wait
To you all will bow and beg their place
And in the gears of your great machine
All souls are put pieces of a puzzle

The Ashen Mother, for you we wait
The tender caress of your cloying roots
To your loving touch the walls of minds will crumble
And together we will all be one

The Black Renegade, for you we wait
Your guidance will exalt the soul to stand alone
The cries of division are a chorus to your ears
And the curses of your kin are but badges of honor

The Skeleton in the Caves

As a babe, the Primarch whould come to be known as Golgothos crash landed on a desolate, grey planet known as Sepulchra. The surface of Sepulchra were inhospitable badlands, with gale force winds kicking up dust storms which could rip the flesh off a man. Fortunately, Golgothos' pod crashed with such force that it pierced through the surface into the caverns below, and it is in these caverns that Golgothos made his home.

As a child, Golgothos lived by foraging for caveworms and scraping moss off of walls. As he grew, he began to hunt larger and larger game. The beasts of Sepulchra fell to his bare hands, and Golgothos would consume everything, leaving only the bones behind.

However, Golgothos' life was not safe, for deep within the caverns lived a clan of Orks. Many times as he was feeding, Golgothos would be discovered by wandering Orks, and be forced to flee. For many years he was forced to live cautiously, fleeing before the echos of Ork grunts.

It was not until he was a man grown that Golgothos chose to face the Orks in battle. The Orks had driven all game from the caverns, and so Golgothos was starving. Delirious and exhausted, Golgothos wandered passageways he had never been to before. Stumbling around a bend, he happened upon three Orks, arguing over the roasting corpse of a cave drake. Golgothos attacked the Orks with a ferocity he did not know he had posessed, kicking, clawing, biting, with his screams of fury echoing across the planet. The Orks never stood a chance.

After that, armed with an Ork Choppa, Golgothos grew to enjoy hunting orks. The Orks came to call him "Da skellytun in da caves," and told eachother tales of the bony creature which ripped apart Orks with its bare hands. Eventually, Warboss Skullgub decided he had had enough, and rallied his Orks to hunt Golgothos.

For months, Skullgub harried Golgothos. While Golgothos was mighty, he could not face hordes of Orks at once, and so he was forced to make numerous tactical retreats. Fleeing before the echoing CLANKS of Skullgub's mega armour, Golgothos came upon a pair of massive metal blast doors. Golgothos had never seen anything man made before, and so he marveled at the doors. However, he was quickly ripped out of his confusion by the CLANK CLANK CLANK of skullgub's approach. Golgothos banged his fists against the control panel in desperation, and miraculously, the door opened.

Within, Golgothos found polished metal hallways, with deep recesses in the walls. In each recess he found the ancient, dusty remains of a man: Golgothos had happened upon a crashed Catacomb Ship from the dark age of technology. He went deeper into the ship, looking for some choke point or other tactical advantage, and found it: A door leading into a personal Tomb. He looked within, and found, laying on a Beir, a well dressed skeleton. The skeleton was decorated with gold jewelry and gems, as well as medals which marked him as a military officer. On the officer's hand, dull grey and coated with a layer of dust, was an ancient Power Fist. With his mighty new weapon, and an advantageous choke point, Golgothos was able to drive off Skullgub's Orks.

The Discovery had confused Golgothos, however. He had never seen another human being before, never even conceived of the possibility that there were others. And yet, here in this catacomb, he had found the skeletal remains of hundreds of men. Golgothos began to think that Men were gods, or perhaps demons, meant to torment the Orks. He spent the next few years guarding the catacombs, and tending to the remains of what he believed to be fallen gods.

Eventually, Skullgub managed to corner Golgothos away from home as he was hunting. Outnumbered, outmatched, and staring down the gob of a gigantic mega armoured warboss, Golgothos called out to the gods for aid. With a loud CRASH, the roof before him caved in, and before Golgothos' tear-filled eyes was a Drop Pod of the Imperium of Man. From this Drop Pod emerged the Emperor himself, along with some of his mighty Space Marines. The Emperor cleaved Skullgub in two with his mighty power sword, and the Marines made short work of the remaining Orks.

The Emperor offered Golgothos a mighty legion to lead, and Golgothos required no convincing. As far as Golgothos was concerned, before him stood the King of the Gods, and such a being should not be questioned. The Emperor did not approve of Golgothos' superstition, but at least it was superstition of human superiority. Golgothos was given the VI Legion, which he named The Entombed.

The Entombed maintain Golgothos' faith to this day, believing humans to be Gods, sent to punish impure and inferior xenos. They guard their fortress monastary, called the Catacomb, and pay much respect to the dead.

Great Crusade Era

Burning Worlds

The world was on fire.

One could not tell if it was day or night from the eternal glow, or the ash that choked the sky. The battlefield was a picture of hell, the hell man had once believed in before the Imperial Truth had swept such superstition away. But here and now, that mythical hell was reborn upon Yaga Prime, sending countless souls to damnation.

Striding through the flames, the Sons of Fire burned everything before them. The human defenders of this world, who had refused to abandon their gods and beliefs, were now either ash or small bands of fleeing survivors, each being run down and burned one after the other.

The war had been won in a single hour and twenty-seven minutes, though the battle still raged on three weeks later. One hour twenty-seven minutes. That had been how long it had taken for his ships to cripple the enemy fleet and fire-bomb every single major city on the planet. Over half the enemy flotilla had been lost in the opening salvos, the rest in the hours and days after. The wreckage now orbited the capital planet, the heart of this system. Following that, twenty-four Modalis-class atmospheric missiles had been launched from the Eternal Conflagration at the surface of Yaga Prime. Each targeted a key strategic location, major cities, strategic hubs, and within seconds billions had burned. Thus, the war for Yaga Prime was won in one hour twenty-seven minutes. In the months that followed, all that remained was to complete the cull.

First Captain Emiya could feel the blistering heat inside the confines of his Terminator Plate. That meant that outside the temperature must be blistering, near that of the Plasma Reactors his suit had once been designed for.

He strode dispassionately through the carnage, through the fire, flanked by his standard bearer Kleast, the standard singed at the edges, and master of signal Amerauk. The first company was at the heart of the pursuit, passing the blazing hulks of tanks and troop carriers. The crackling sound of burning flesh was everywhere, and the smell, the smell of burned man. That smell was lodged in the nasal cavities of every last Son of Fire. Most loved that smell. Emiya disliked it. I am in the wrong Legion. I take no pleasure in what I have to do.

Most of his brothers took glee in burning all before them, the sickness that it seemed consumed more and more of his Brothers. Even before their Primarch had joined them, the Legion had taken to the use of flame weapons more often than not. Emiya had been young then, and had hoped their Primarch would be a great leader, one who could stand shoulder to shoulder with his Brothers as the Crusade pushed ever onwards.

Then they had found their liege lord, and all had changed. “Emiya,” A deep, booming voice suddenly crackled through the vox. He knew instantly who it was.

His Primarch. The Burned King. The Fire Rider. Inferox.

“You are needed. One of the Sigillite’s spawn has arrived to see our progress, and I need you here with me.” “And why is that sire?” “So you can restrain me if I get fed up of her twittering and want to see how well she burns.”

He could see in his kind’s eye the Primarch's mighty flame-claw gauntlets flexing. Inferox was hardly co-operative. He was pointed at a world, and told to burn it. To have a representative of the Regent of Terra come, had to mean something was up.

“I’m on my way,” Emiya began, but the line was already dead.

“Kleast? Contact Captain Tamyo and tell him command’s passed to him. I have been summoned.” “The Primarch?” “Who else?” Kleast lowered the standard as he turned to Emiya. “Keep him calm. The last thing we need is another ‘accidental’ death. Emperor knows we've had enough of them in the past.”

Roses Crush The Best

Rosean, an oceanic world covered nearly entirely with water with the exception of a small continent containing its only landmass. It accounts for seventeen percent of the total surface area of the world only. The people of Rosean possess an advanced form of laser technology they had devised after years of isolation. The sudden appearance of the Imperium was at first met with glee, but demands for compliance soon found the small system and the solar empire at war. Lacking in voidships, the Roseans more than make up for this with their fearsome technology which the Imperium eagerly desires to dissect.

The Imperial amassed fleet sits behind one of the two moons of the planet. Heated debate has paralyzed the reclamation force for a week now. The Silver Cataphracts First Captain Sergei had been butting heads with very Primarch of the Mastodontii himself. It had to be getting serious, or else they wouldn't be calling her up. The Lacunan Lifewatch had been posted with the 66th Expedition Fleet with the intention of bringing back less than welcoming human worlds into the loving embrace of the Imperial Truth. But no one had requested the Major General's presence except if they needed to prolong an argument. The Astartes gave orders. They didn't hold meetings that involved the common soldiery, normally. The elevator climbed the many floors of 'Rosskar's Frown' in a flash, reaching the war room with a few minutes to spare before she was supposed to arrive. There were no windows in this section of the ship, as it was in the very heart of the numerous layers of plasteel and ceramite that made the vessel's hull.

Stepping with her right foot out, she stride forward with gloved hands in her coat pocket ever closer to the sounds of bickering Astartes. "Major General Francia?"The question came from her left. The man appeared to be young, but that told you nothing. Rejuvenant treatments were commonplace among the upper echelon of the Imperial Army. His uniform was a dulled white, that of snow. It was nothing remarkable, which was remarkable. It didn't have flashy glint or elaborate designs, but it didn't look like he made it back at his backwater of a homeworld either.

"I am Major General Alexey, of the Rosskar Strelky," It was only polite to greet one's comrade with a handshake, right? Francia didn't think so, and the gesture died between them.

"You're the Silver's dogs, huh?"

"Excuse me, miss?" "You heard what I said. Your men don't think the Army is good enough for you, I understand."

The young-looking man was taken aback. He found his footing though, replying with a curt, "I did not expect you to be such a bitch."

A smug grin formed on the Lifeguard's commander. "There it is. Old Rosskan fire. Please don't waste my time with pleasantries, I know your people don't waste time with it and I don't either. Can we agree to be honest with each other? We have enough to deal with the Astartes. Alright?"

It appeared as if a weight was lifted off of Alexey's shoulders. The years of training in etiquette and manners melted away in no time. He slouched his back, pulling out a small winter cap to place on his head. "Glad we can find agreement even when others cannot." The yelling of the Captains still rung in the hallway.

"Let's go inside before they notice we're late."

It is an odd place to be between demi-gods. They are giants within armor to make a tank blush, wielding weaponry and strength not able to be conceived by the average soldier. The Lifeguard had fought for three campaigns alongside the Mastodontii, becoming quite accustomed to their tactics and strategies. Alexey had been raised from birth to assume his role as supreme commander of the Strelky, the grand auxiliary forces who support the Silver Cataphracts in their endeavors.

Currently First Captain Sergei 'The Bear' was having the same argument he'd been in with the damn Primarch of the Mastodontii, Tollund Ötztal. The Great Hunter.

As always, Sergei presented his case with the vigor and frozen fury of most Rosskans, "Those lasers will make a convention assault impossible. We'll have a hard enough time organizing out fleet to the orbit of the world so we aren't destroyed by surface-to-stellar batteries! We must move before more satellite defenses can be mustered! They've made another dozen in the time you've been having your 'talks'."

"Those discussions," always Tollund had a way with words that completely enraptured Francia, "As you so easily dismiss could lead to a completely peaceful solution. Even while that may fail, we are exploring completely bypassing those satellites and batteries by contacting sympathetic elements with Rosean. If you would only give it time, my brother."

"You! Are not! My fucking brother!" Sergei slams his Bolter into the table, smashing it and the weapon in two. "You will not see what is clearly necessary in front of you! This world has huge populations of algae which can be harvested to feed worlds which struggle to survive. And you want to preserve a few million when billions could suffer from our inaction? I have damn patience, but not the patience. To do. Nothing!"

If it had been any other Primarch Sergei would either be dead or demoted by now. Always his fiery temperament had brought him to blows with his own Primarch, who admired him for the tenacity that grew within him. Alexey had come to expect it by now, but he never lived in fear of it. Despite the rage Sergei never succumbed to it. No one had ever been hurt by it, except maybe Sergeo himself.

Tollund in regular expected fashion took the bluster and anger without a beat lost. The debate continued for hours, with what to do about this possibility or that outcome or any possible result of their actions. Sergei attempted to out think Tollund, to bring cold reason and hard facts into the equation. While Tollund spoke circles around the furious Captain by showing the clear virtue of handling this with the least amount of blood shed possible.

"The Imperium needs every soul. That includes our own and those of whom we wish to incorporate. You cannot rush progress, Captain."

Alexey spoke up at last, "Yes you can, Primarch. That is exactly what the Imperium is doing. That is what the Imperail Truth is, and that is the entirety of the Rosskan people's history for the past few centuries. Progress obtained from pure will and might."

The room fell silent. A Captain out speaking to the Primarch, this was a possibility. A human outright speaking against him, correcting him, and calling him wrongful was. It gave Francia more than plenty of reasons to take a few steps to the side when Tollund turned about. Instead of a angry glare, a friendly smile looked down upon the Strelky's Major General. "You agree with the Cataphracts philosophy? Not surprising. But you do not have authority here, despite being in such a prominent position within the militia forces of Rosskar. I will let you speak your mind, go on."

"Well, the Roseans obviously do not wish to be part of the Imperium. Their continued deployment of satellites, and the fact we much reach out to fringe groups and extremists to find support displays the sad fact that the majority of the population support this anti-Imperial sentiment. We must act quickly, as Sergei says. Not because he is a Silver Cataphract, but because every satellite represents another thousand or more crewmen dying in the upcoming void battle."

Francia stepped from the shadows to speak out against her colleague, before Tollund was able to reply. The Primarch saw the look in the woman's eyes, and happily allowed her the room. "So, you think just because we can't see the extent of the Pro-Imperial Rosean sentiment, we can't be sure that we could avoid even a space battle? We're talking about millions of lives, an advanced civilization that could even teach us something. This world deserves some time to allow us to reach out to them. If the Imperium struck out at the first signs of resistance, Rosskar would be ashes right now."

All debate was ended with the sound of thunder. A figure marched into the room that demanded immediate reverence and respect from everyone except Primarch Tollund. It was Alexandri, dressed in green and white with a golden power maul in one hand, a lighting claw in the other. His face bore a great, massive long brown beard that ran down the front of his huge suit of armor. The Silver Cataphracts progenitor seemed full of glee as he surveyed the room. "Sorry!" His voice boomed in the room, a making the soft voice of Tollund appear like a faint whisper. "The warp is a fickle mistress. Anyways, my forces have already taken up position on the opposite moon. Those lasers! Dear, they nearly sniped by shuttlecraft. Let us all be thankful they aren't that accurate? Haha!"

Sergei signed heavily, looking to his Primarch with a mix of annoyance and barely concealed anger, "I'm going to say you had a few on the way, didn't you, Alexandri?"

"Perhaps so, perhaps not. Where is my favorite nephew though?"

Alexey smiled wide at his Uncle, speaking up, "Here."

"Aaah! Alexey! I'm glad to see you, we must meet somewhere else when this is all over!"

Tollund actually grew annoyed by his fellow Primarch's actions. He wanted to speak with his brother on how best to solve the Rosean problem. Hopefully with his wise council, they would be able to avoid the complications experienced between himself and Sergei. "Brother, please. Could we speak about Rosean?" Alexandri turned to face his brother, "What about that shit heap of a world?"

"How are we going to deal with it!"

Sergei would never forget the look on Alexandri's face as he spoke the words, "It has already been dealt with, brother."

Tollund's face didn't have time to match up with the horror and revulsion as he uttered the words, "What did you just say?" "Yes, I had my flagship push the lesser moon into the sea. The tidal wave caused will sink the Rosean continent underneath the sea. The problem has been dealt with."

The room went silent. Both sides having been shocked by this act. Sergei was disgusted, Alexey was horrified. While others were left simply stunned Francia charged ahead to stand before the armored bulk of the Primarch. Her words spat forth like venom, her eyes filled with anger, "You act without the rest of us? You are callous, cruel man who on-" One swat was all it took for Alexandri to rip her into several pieces with his power claw. It was remarkable how a hulking giant such a Primarch can move so fast. A flick of the wrist, and a life was ended. "Tollund," Alexandri said flexing his surging blades, "See in the future that you keep better discipline amongst your lesser ranks. I will not suffer an insult like that again. Alexey! Let's go shoot something! I'm sure there must be something to hunt in the underholds!"

This was when Sergei, and Tollund, first began to truly despise Alexandri.

Ullanor Triumph: The King and the Mouth

As the legions of men and machines marched during the Triumph of Ullanor, beings of divine descents, brothers of superhuman power and strength where for first time fully reunited, free to learn more about their siblings.

Far from the eyes of the countless soldiers marching, at the balcony, were two of the brothers who would not show the animosity toward each other, but who would still eye each other in bouts of defiance and obvious contempt.

Inferox, the Burning King, Primarch of the Sons of Fire stood beside Nathanog, the Endless Mouth, Primarch of the Gorgers.

The Burning King and his legion burned to crisps hundreds of thousands of Orks and melted countless of the Orks’ armored vehicles in what could only be a described as a nightmare of flames and pyrotechnics. Flamers and meltas scoured the battlefield, breaking the Orks where their cunning could have been the difference between victory and annihilation. If the lives of millions had been preserved the King in his royal arrogance knew it was thanks to the Sons of Fire.

Meanwhile, the Endless Mouth and his legion stormed the frontline way ahead of any Imperial formation and drew the first blood on many of the battles of the Ullanor Crusade. They were the vanguard that opposed the Orks with a sea of adamantium and savagery. Fangs and Obsidian chainswords, stopping the Orks where their strength could have been the difference between victory and carnage.

The Mouth did not care for the lives he saved from the ruthless melees with the Orks, but he wanted the ferocity his Legion harnessed to deal with the Orks to be recognized.

Each one was wanting for something that the other also wanted. That which would commend those who had to go toe-to-toe with the Orks. The spoils of victory could go to HeKtor for all they cared, but their valor in combat had to be recognized. They both suffered immense casualties from playing their role on the battlefield, way more than the other Legions, and yet no mentions was made of it. The other Primarchs were there, each too absorbed with what they helped them claim.

The Mouth advanced toward the King, his eyes never losing sight of his.

"My legion rid this planet of more Orks beasts than your fireworks could have ever burned.", Nathanog spout.

"Fire cleanses all that is evil, whether it be flesh or steel. Your fangs would have done nothing against the simplest Looted Tank.", the King responded, a slight growl accompanying his taunt.

As if he was able to see the tension between the two, Hektor suddenly appeared between them, smiling as usual.

"Now, brothers, today is not a day for anger, especially not when our Father has graced this world with His presence.", Hektor said, posing his hands on Nathanog and Inferox's shoulders. "If anything each of you should admire the work the Legion of the other accomplished, the prowess of both your Legions when it came to dealing with the Orks up close had been noticed by all your brothers."

Hektor gave the two Primarchs what they wanted, recognition for their deeds. His natural leadership always at work, Hektor knew what his brothers wanted to hear. But now was also the perfect moment to tell them what they didn't want to hear.

"But never forget that, ultimately, it was the unifying strength of all of the Emperor's forces that led to this Triumph. You both kept the hordes of Orks away from our firing lines, but do not underestimate how much our deluges of bolts, lasers, and plasma contributed to this glory we are all sharing today, us as brothers, humanity as a whole."

"And if I am to lead that unified force with the blessing of our Father, I will make sure to that this glory shall ever be your reward for each of your sacrifices."

The King and the Mouth stood there for a second, pondering the words of Hektor. Certainly they had some deep meanings in them, for Hektor rarely spoke lightly. Maybe he was going to be assigned by the Emperor to a position of further leadership? Possible. The role of the Wolves of Dawn in the battles of Ullanor had been more than decisive after all... Certainly the help of The Sons of Fire and the Gorgers helped the Wolves win those battles, but ultimately the Wolves did the job, if not for them the sacrifices of the Mouth and the King would have been for naught.

They understood. The two brothers no longer had hate and contempt in their hearts. A sense of unity filled it now, certainly they would always be rivals for the role they both fulfill on the battlefield, but their efforts whether one would best the other would always be in the interest of a greater cause, a cause Hektor could lead with more than all his will, they could fell.

The passage of their Legion in the Triumph would come soon enough and they would be able to revel in the grand honor the Ullanor Crusade brought upon all of them.

Hints of Nikaea

It was on Ullanor, meeting on the Triumph Plain with the last blood of the slain greenskins still stinking in the air, that those who could see what was coming gathered to confer.

‘Greetings, brother,’ Cyaxares had said, grinning across his strange ruddy face. ‘It has been too long.’

Aubey the Grey, the prodigal son, bowed. ‘Indeed. Not since before…Father had words with me.’

Cyaxares clapped his big hand on the Aubrey’s shoulder. ‘Indeed. Fortunately the past is past. You are forgiven, one with the family again. How are you? You look leaner than you were, if such a thing were possible.’

Aubrey gave an equivocal shrug. He had seen much in the eye, had seen the truth of creation It had worn at him, changed him in ways even now he had yet to understand.

Cyaxares led him tom a pavilion, where several of his brothers were also gathered. ‘I dislike these gatherings,’ was the greeting Alexandri of the Silver Cataphracts gave as he looked out over the plain at the gathering masses. Alexandri was a cold soul, but he had just as good a reason to be here as the others.

‘Good.’ Said the Voidwatcher, possibly the most psycially powerful of all of those present, as he got up to face Aubrey. ‘We are all here. We need to confer.’

‘About the Librarius?’ Aubrey asked.

‘You must have heard the rumours.’ Alexandri grunted.

The Voidwatcher smiled. ‘There are always rumours. Lumey can shout his ignorance as much as he likes. I think the rest of the Imperium is learning to ignore him.’

‘It is not just Lumey. Arelex, Nathanog, there are many who fear us, who hate us.’

‘Worry less,’ said Cyaxares. ‘There will always be suspicion of the gifted. We have to manage it, to explain it. Trust in enlightenment.’

The Voidwatcher snorted. ‘They will destroy what we have built. None of them rest easily with what our Father has allowed. If we do not guard what we have won–’

‘You forget one thing.’

‘Which is?’

‘Our father,’ said Cyaxares, fondly. ‘He set this thing in motion – can you imagine him letting the attack dogs ruin it? Lumey and Arelex will be given their chance to fulminate, I have seen it. Our only task, my elusive friend, is to remain true to reason.’

‘Yes, but what if Father listens to them?’ snapped the Voidwatcher. ‘Do not blindly trust in our Father to do what we want him to. His decisions are His own, and He can change them if He wants.’

‘Indeed.’ Alexandri growled. ‘Which is why we must not let that happen. We must present a united front. Only together can we ensure that the witch-hunters do not win.’ He stressed the word ‘Witch’, with a snarl playing about his lips. Aubrey had heard that psyker covens had been present on Rosskar, and that was the origin of the Psykers of the XXIIII Legion. He had no psychic power in him, unlike the Voidwatcher, Cyaxres or even Otztal, who wasn’t present for Ullanor.

‘Why do we need to do this? Has Father given an inkling of any plans to deal with the Librarius?’ Aubrey asked.

‘Why is he gathering fifteen of us here Aubrey?’ The Voidwatcher asked. ‘Something big is about to happen. Something very big. And if He’s going to do anything without first seeing to the Librarius, then He’s a bigger fool then has ever lived. And Father is many things, but never a fool.’

‘So, what do we do then?’ Aubrey asked, dark thoughts already curling in his mind. He would converse with the Gods, and see how this could be turned to their benefit.

‘We talk. We create a united ideal. We ensure our message is the same. The power the Librarius grants to us. The ideas of the future. The psychic potential that all humans have, and which must be nurtured. The power that is our birthright. Appeal to what Father knows, what He Himself wants of us all. We do that, and we ensure nothing goes wrong.’

‘And what if we fail?’ Alexandri replied. ‘What if we lose, and the Librarius is abolished, and all Psychic powers disposed of.’

‘Once a mind is opened it can never be closed.’ The Voidwatcher said, voice drained of emotion. ‘This will not go against us, it cannot, and we will make it so.’

‘And it won’t.’ Cyaxares smiled. ‘Don’t be so dour you two. This is merely a precaution. We don’t know exactly what’s to happen yet. We merely know something will happen. Keep calm and carry on.’ He then turned to Aubrey. ‘You’ve been silent Brother. What do you think of all this?’

Aubrey shrugged again. ‘We do not know enough yet to be this worried. Precautions are good, but I do not see what all the fuss should be about. When Father speaks, when we learn why we have all been summoned here, then we should make plans. Until then, I have other things to deal with. Now, must we linger on this dust-clogged plain all morning, or does the Imperium’s munificence here extend to something to eat?’

Lazerus Lies in Ashes

‘Kneel,’

One word. Not a word, a command. A command as unbreakable as the very laws of the universe. A command from a living god, from the very apotheosis of all man.

And yet the one commanded resisted.

‘What?’ Aubrey the Grey, Lord of the Eternal Zealots asked, almost confused, unaware of why his Father was doing this.

‘Kneel, Aubrey.’

Slowly but surely, Aubrey lowered himself to one knee.

The Emperor, a being of light and power, now spoke to the prostrate form of his son.

‘You are a general, my son. Not a healer. You were created for war, for conquest, to reunite the human race under the aegis of truth. The human race. Not that of any other species.’

‘I fight for all beings.’ Aubrey was no longer kneeling. He rose to his feet, his voice rising with him. ‘My Legion fights for your vision, for what you want the Imperium to be.’

+It is not my Imperium+

His words were now laced with power, enough power to destroy a million souls, the power that could force any being to comply with them.

+It is the Imperium of Man. Of Man, Aubrey. The empire of humanity. Tell me, were those, things that raised you men?+

Aubrey could not answer. He knew the truth, knew what was coming, He didn’t want to face it, but it was coming as unstoppably as the passage of time.

+Remember what I told you, the day we first met. Xenos are never to be trusted. They are treacherous, selfish beings that want nought but their own advancement, not ours. They would throw all mankind on the pyre for but a day more of life. They have used you, my son. Used you as a way to get what they want. Not what I want+

He now dropped his power and used his flesh voice, no less potently.

‘You are blind, my son. You cling to ancient perceptions, and endanger us all with them. Let this end, Aubrey. Let this end with you heeding my words.’

Aubrey still knelt where he was, trembling. Blood ran from one ear, running in a slow trail down his neck.

‘I am listening, father,’ he slowly said.

The then once more made his address, this time to the whole Legion. Every Astartes on all the ships orbiting Lazarus now heard these words.

+Eternal Zealots, hear me well. You, among all my Legions, are guilty of failure. You have won many victories, but they have all been hollow. You have embraced vipers to your breast, and nurtured the true foes of humanity+

+You allied with and supported xenos races, many of whom preyed on humanity during old night. You gave them our weapons and taught them about us. You armed our foes. While all others succeed and bring prosperity to the Imperium, you alone have failed me+

The emperor now gestured at the planet below, As light began to bloom upon its surface.

+So in punishment, Lazarus is forfeit. Even now your loyal, true brother Bohemond executes my orders. Lazarus burns, for all the crimes you have committed against me+

Aubrey stared as the fire spread across the planet, the image burning forever into his mind.

+Wage war as you were created to do. Serve the Imperium as you were born to do. Destroy all foes who dare to face us, leave no xenos between here and the eternal void. Take with you the lesson learned here this day. You kneel in the ruination found at the end of a false path. Let this be your Legion’s rebirth+

The primarch managed a weak ‘Father…’ but it was spoken to emptiness. Another sonic boom of displacing air heralded the Emperor’s return to his Flagship.

And as his homeworld burned, and all he had once knew was ripped away forever, Aubrey crashed to his knees at last.

Night of the Witch

Alexandri, soon to be Primarch of the Silver Cataphracts, stood there in mute silence as his father’s golden guards set upon his own people. He wanted to speak, to give voice to this outrage, but the golden form that stood before him had stolen his words away.

‘I know what you want to say, my son.’ the Golden God said, his voice a low rumble like thunder on the horizon. ‘I know that you must think this the most base treachery. But you have to see the truth, to know why I must do this.’

Alexandri did not want to hear it. He wanted to make the Emperor, his own father, recant or pay. But he knew that the Emperor would destroy him if he so much as lifted a finger against him.

‘The warp is fraught with peril, for it is an inconstant place of shifting reality, capricious lies and untruths.’The Emperor said, unconcerned with his son’s inner turmoil. ‘Such things are not for untrained minds to know; no matter how powerful or knowledgeable they believe themselves to be. Only death and damnation await those who pry too deeply into secrets not meant for mortals without the gift of forewarning and training.’

Alexandri had never felt so impotent, like a child. All his instincts wanted him to rage, to strike the being that dared to overrule his will, to treat his subjects this way! This was Alexandri’s world, not that of the golden god that had overturned everything!

Without turning, the Emperor spoke. ‘I know what you think, Alexandri. You were once the uncontested ruler, so to have to submit to me must be galling. But with submission comes wisdom. Heed mine now.’

Alexandri gritted his teeth and nodded, swearing to take these words to heart. He had tried to conceal secrets from his father and now his people paid the price. He would never do so again.

‘If I don’t do this, then there will come a time when you will find your homeworld has been eaten by the warp, and that beings from beyond have consumed all who live there. That is what happened to so many worlds during Long Night. I started this Crusade to prevent such a thing from ever happening again.’

The Emperor turned, where in the distance the crack of Boltgun fire from his Custodians rose up as the covens were purged, one after the other.

‘Hate me now, if you wish. Hate me with all your might. But remember this. You will thank me for this, one day. You will thank me that the touch of the Warp will never consume Rosskar.’

Alexandri nodded, committing those words to heart, quashing the small voice that screamed at the insult set upon him. He buried his hate, sealed it in an iron casket. He would make his legion like him, and together they would unleash their hate, the hate that his Father had gifted him upon the foe. Soon millions would rue the day the Emperor’s hand was set upon Rosskar.

Hektor Heresy Era

The Duel at Isstvan V

‘I have long waited for this moment, Bohemond,’ replied Aubrey, ‘ever since you purged by brothers with vengeance in your heart. Ever since you humiliated me, and left me before our false father’s judgement. For years I have dreamt of this reckoning. Only one of us will walk away from this, you know that.’

‘I know that,’ agreed Bohemond.

‘You betrayed me and my brothers,’ said Aubrey, and Bohemond was surprised to hear genuine emotion in his brother’s voice. ‘You cast them down and purged them, because they were not human. Because they were Xenos,’ the last part coming out as a hateful hiss.

‘I did what I had to do because your eyes needed to be opened,’ answered Bohemond. ‘Xenos were never our friends, they were always against us. Father thought you knew better, he thought you’d understand. But you were naive, you never saw the threat they posed until too late. And now look at you, turning on us in the heat of battle.’

‘You turned on us. You shamed us and humiliated us. You will not do so again.’

‘Then you shall all die!’ snarled Bohemond. ‘Hektor is mad. Look at all this death! How can this be right? You will hang from Traitor’s Gibbet for this sedition, for I am the Emperor’s loyal servant and through me his will and vengeance will be done.’

‘The Emperor is a spent force,’ snapped Aubrey. ‘Even now he whittles away on some trivia in the dungeons of Terra while his realm is in flames. Even now he gives up on hope in favour of his own selfish desires. Are those the actions of a being fit to rule the galaxy?’

‘No more words,’ Bohemond adopted a combat stance with his blade. ‘Come then, brother. Let us decide this, you and I. For eternity.’

The battlefield fell silent as Aubrey drew his own blades, a matching pair of Black blades with snakes wrapped around the blade and outwards, forming both the guard and the hilt. The din of the battlefield could not mask the sound as they slid from their sheathes like the snakes that adorned them, before Aubrey, scorned son, spurned healer, bitter warlord and herald of the true gods, took his stance.

Both swords pointed towards the dirt as he put his right foot forward, shifted his body forwards, his silver locks draping down, only a single, almost glowing, piercing, emerald eye peered out from the shadows.

"For Lazarus."

Aubrey struck first, moving faster than thought, his cloak swirling about him. Bohemond met the blow with his mighty blade, and a radial wave shot out from it, throwing up the ash in swirling clouds.

Bohemond grunted as he blocked the incoming blades. He moved far more slowly than Aubrey, but everything he did was solid, dense, and indomitable, every movement clinical, a ruthless economy of muscle and motion, each thrust and parry executed to perfection without the audacity of dramatic flair.

Bohemond’s blade wove an exquisite dance, while Aubrey’s blades slashed at Bohemond with wild abandon, and the air rang with the clash of metal against metal, with the fizzing crack of opposing power fields.

Bohemond wrenched his blade back, the silver steel breaking through the air in lashing chops, blurring into a crescent that reflected the flames that lit the sky above. Each carving strike crashed against Aubrey’s blocking blades. Both warriors moved beyond mortal capability, with speed that defied sight. Yet one was a knight, a champion of justice and honour, the other a visionary whose vision had turned dark, and who fought with savage relish against his hated foe. Aubrey’s grin had been a brittle facade at the best of times since the fall of Lazarus. Now it turned to glass.

Aubrey beat away a sword-strike and went for Bohemond’s gorged with his other blade. At the last minute he jutted the blade down, slipped below the defense and cut a long gash in the Primarch’s breastplate. This time the blade cut deep, paring already fractured armour and delving into the ribcage below.

Bohemond roared in pain and jerked clear, cracking Aubrey’s blades away with his own mighty sword and staggering backwards.

He now snarled defiantly, turning his pain to anger, fuelling his body with rage and barreling back at him, smashing him with perfectly directed sword-blows. Aubrey lurched away, stumbling across the uneven dirt carpeted with the bodies of his Legion and Bohemonds, while Bohemond lumbered after him. More blows came in – hard, heavy, earth-shaking blows, blows to sunder armour and shatter steel. Aubrey was driven further, only barely able to weather the explosion of fury directed at him. His armour was cut apart and his body battered and bruised by his once-brother’s sustained assault.

‘Die,’ Bohemond breathed. Desperation ruined his voice, rasping it from bleeding lips. ‘You should never have survived that tainted world you call home. Father should have ended you when he saw how fall you’d fallen, the company you kept.’

Summoning up one last burst of energy, Aubrey bludgeoned aside the mighty blade and pulled away, beckoning his adversary to come after him. Bohemond followed, his armour cut apart, his mighty sword slick with blood. A vengeful Knight, come to avenge his sons.

Aubrey held position, panting hard, trying to drag up energy for the final clash. His hearts thudded, his lungs burned. He held his twin blades poised, waiting for his enemy to move.

Come to me. You can see my weakness.

Howling anger, Bohemond did just that, and Aubrey took his chance.

One blade took the mighty sword, as he stepped to one side. The other blade flicked out, biting deep into the breastplate of his brother’s armour, and the Lord of the the Knights of Justice screamed, a sound that sould never have existed in the mortal realm as his breastplate gave in and the blade bit deep into his flesh. Hot blood sprayed from the wound and the mighty black blade slid from Bohemond’s hand as he snarled in fierce agony.

As Bohemond crouched, bleeding, he began to speak into his Vox, giving final orders to his sons as they tried to flee the field. He knew his fate, he knew he was done, but he had one last oath of defiance left to give.

Aubrey smiled down upon him, drawing his blades back. His vengeance was nigh, his victory complete. This would be a message to all who follow the False Emperor, all who refused the promise of the future, all who cast him down as a weakling, a Xeno-Lover.

His serpentine Black Blade clove the air as it swept towards Bohemond. Unnatural warp-forged steel met the iron flesh of a primarch, its aberrant edge cutting through Bohemond’s skin, muscle and bone with a shrieking howl that echoed in realms beyond those knowable to mortals.

Blood and the monumental energies, the very fabric of creation bound within the meat and gristle of one of the Emperor’s sons erupted from the wound, and Aubrey fell back as the searing powers blinded him, dropping the black sword to his side. He heard a shrieking wail, as of a choir of banshees, whip around him as phantom, skeletal hands clawed at him, and a thousand voices tore at his mind.

Bohemond was dead. His head peered up at him, sightless eyes staring in accusation, his lips still moving with an unfinished curse upon them.

‘Thus was ever your fate Brother,’ Aubrey whispered to the head at his feet. ‘Lazarus is avenged.’

Conclave: The Traitors Move Out

The Bucephalus

Nine days after Isstvan V

Ten of his brothers were present, though only half of them truly stood in the room. Five of the absent six were nothing more than projections, manifested around the table in the forms of flickering grey hololithic simulacra, formed of stuttering light and white noise. The sixth thoug, was unlike the others, a figure of shifting form made from the very fabric of creation. The Voidwatcher, master of Warpcraft turned to face him.

‘Aubrey. I heard you took your revenge on the destroyer of Lazarus. What was it like, killing one of your brothers?’

Aubrey the Grey, the Chosen of the Gods, the Betrayed one, inclined his head towards the Voidwatcher.

‘All power demands sacrifice brother, the greater the better. And there is no finer sacrifice then the traitorous whoreson who burned my home and slaughtered my brothers. He was an offering to the Gods, an offering for our promised victory.’

The Voidwatcher nodded in agreement, and turned to face the centre.

The others acknowledged him one by one. Thoren Grimm – a towering, pulsing hololithic avatar of himself, gave the barest suggestion of a nod. Johannes Vrach of the Life Bringers smiled warmly, which was returned by Aubrey. Both were healers, though Aubrey had been rebuked for his desires and Vrach had been encouraged, they still shared the same outlook.

Beside him was Rogerius Merrill, unassuming even in the flesh, even less so in this electronic etherealness. His image faded in and out of focus, occasionally dividing and shifting in the bizarre mitosis of distance distortion. He raised a hand in greeting, and Aubrey returned the gesture.

Kranios gave an amused sneer, before looking away. Kranios didn’t seem to care much for the new Gods Hektor had found, he was in it for the fight, the chance to bleed the Imperium. Aubrey concealed his smirk. His soul had already been claimed, as had theirs all. The Gods had marked their chosen children, and would soon come to collect.

‘You’re late,’ one of his brothers interrupted. ‘We’ve been waiting.’ The voice was a graceless avalanche of syllables.

Nathanog. Aubrey turned to him, offering a conciliatory smile.

His warrior brother stood hunched in the threatening lean that characterised his body language, the straining of the leash, the sign of one eager to be on the hunt, to chase down and kill his prey.

‘I was delayed,’ Aubrey admitted. He didn’t like to look at his brother for too long at a time. It was one of the things that made Nathanog twitch; like the animal many thought he was, the lord of the Gorgers couldn’t abide being stared at, and could never hold eye contact for more than a few moments. Aubrey had no desire to provoke him.

One other, however, did. Glaring at him from the other side of the table was Inferox, the tall, gaunt, blackened lord of the Sons of Fire. They were at once a match of opposites, and simultaneously more alike than either one cared to realize. One believed in consuming all in fire, the other in rending his foes apart and bathing the earth in their blood. They both already walked the scarlet path, though neither seemed to realize it, and all it would take was a nudge to gift them both to the Lord of Slaughter. A nudge Aubrey had every intention to make.

Tollund Ötztal smiled and gestured at him to come closer, to join them around the table. Of all his Brothers, Ötztal was the warmest, one who tried to. His beliefs had been shaken to the core recently, but Aubrey had revealed to him the Gods that would save all humanity, the primordial truth that underpinned all creation. Aubrey smiled to see the Chaos Runes newly etched on Ötztal’s armour. He had seen the light, and he now believed as Aubrey did. Soon others would join them both, and they would all serve the true Gods.

Uriel Starikov was the last of those present through long-range sending. He stood helmed, while all others were bareheaded, and his hololithic image was unusually stable while each of the others suffered corruption from the vast ranges between their fleets. He stood apart, and none of the others so much as glanced at him. No-one truly trusted him, but he had already proven himself with his misinformation on Isstvan V, and his men were even now preparing to give the Warmaster the ultimate prize: Paramar. For that alone he was given a seat on the Warmasters council, and a voice in affairs.

Nathanog turned to Inferox, returned his gaze with something wordless and dismissive, and looked back at the others.

‘It has been nine days, and we know our tasks,’ he growled. ‘We are already spread across the void, to being wrack and ruin to our father’s kingdom. Why did you gather us?’

Hektor, Warmaster of the cleaved Imperium and future Master of Mankind, didn’t answer immediately. He gestured for Aubrey to take his place around the table, at Hektor’s own right hand. Unlike his Legion’s midnight-blue ceramite, Hektor stood clad in layered, dense armour of charcoal black, adorned with the glaring cadmium Eye of Terra on his breastplate. This last sigil, the symbol of his authority as master of the Imperium’s armies, had its black core refashioned into a slitted serpent’s pupil and eight spokes extended from it to honour his new masters, the dark gods of Chaos.

'You know your tasks my brothers, but not the wider strategy. Merely burning the Imperium down will not in of itself win us this war. We have crushed four Legions, but there are many more out there in the void. Soon they will hear of what we have done, and hasten to defend our father’s throne. That cannot be allowed to happen.’

Aubrey nodded. Too many of his brothers, who had been unwilling or unable to see the primordial truth, were still out there. The Void Angels, Sand Keepers, Silver Cataphracts and Steel Marshals were all dangerous threats to the Warmaster’s strike. And the now twice damned Eyes of the Emperor, who had betrayed both sides and now fled needed to be punished for abandoning the field on Isstvan V. They all had to be taken out of play, and quickly.

“We are to split our forces and begin carving a swathe through the most vital sectors of the Imperium. We need to secure as much ground and supplies as possible to fuel out attack on Terra. My agents inform me that most of Mars has fallen to us, and the rest is sure to follow. Our allies within the Mechanicum have been successful in their struggle to free the manufacturing facilities there from the thrall of the Imperials. As I speak, they are repairing the systems damaged in the fighting and those deliberately sabotaged by our enemies and are reactivating the munitions and armaments factories. We will need those munitions, when it comes time to tearing down the Imperial Palace.’

Hektor tapped the desk, and an immense galactic swirl shimmered above them, thirty metres across, picked out in gold points. The collection rippled and flickered as the desk’s power units thundered away. The galactic map was overlaid with a hugely complex web of moving streams. It looked organic, like the lattice of blood vessels in a body. Warp routes. Vital worlds were picked out in various luminescent shades.

‘Vrach and my own Heralds will strike at the Galactic North. We will clear a powerbase and build up our strength, and then strike south towards Terra along the segmentum divide including Mezoa and Molech.’ Vrach nodded assent as Hektor highlighted an area of the map.

‘Voidwatcher, I have a special task in mind for you.’ Aubrey watched the Voidwatcher lean in, smiling as if he already knew what his task was. Knowing him, he already did. ‘I need you to cut the Imperium in two. Take the Terra-Ultramar road. Ryza, Davin, Chemos and Seadelant. That way reinforcements from the Ultima Sector will be unable to reach Terra.’ The Voidwatcher’s smile continued as he nodded. He already had plans in place. Aubrey wondered what those plans might entail. Part of him didn’t want to know.

Hektor turned to Grimm. ‘I need you to take your Legion to the planet of Tsagualsa in the Eastern Fringes. From this base you are to strike at the Imperial strongholds of Heroldar and Thramas. These two systems present a clear danger to our operations. If not dealt with they could provide the enemy with an opportunity to outflank us. Thramas, in particular needs to be neutralised as the sector contains a number of forgeworlds who remain loyal to the Emperor.’ Grimm smacked his fist against his chest in answer.

Hektor turned his attention to the lord of the Iron Rangers. 'Merrill, your conduct over Isstvan VI was commendable, but you did not destroy the Scale Bearers. They are still largely intact, and fleeing towards Segmentum Solar. Our allies within the warp have been able to delay their transit, but they must be dealt with. We cannot allow such a strong complement of Space Marines to infiltrate our space. They could seriously disrupt preparations for the attack on Terra.’ 'You must take your legion, hunt down where the Scale Bearers are regrouping and smash them! Do not seek to fight a protracted battle against them. Cripple their fleet and eliminate their ability to manoeuvre. You promised me Orosos’s head. It is time to deliver.’ Merrill gave a shallow nod, his eyes thoughtful.

‘Nathanog. I offered you fresh hunting. Well, it is yours. Tempestus Segmentum, Luth Tyre, Tallarn, Gryphonne, Nenavist are all yours to stalk. Destroy anyone there loyal to the Emperor. Feast on His followers. I trust you’ll find good hunting.’ Nathanog licked his lips and smiled, revealing his massive canine teeth.

‘Ötztal, your Legion is to stay in reserve until we find an appropriate target. In the meantime, take Garevo and Stronhelm.’ Ötztal made a grateful Namaste.

‘Starikov. You have promised me Paramar. We need Paramar. It is a dagger pointed right at Terra’s heart, a vital stepping stone on our route to the Throneworld. Without Paramar, we will not be able to take Terra. It is paramount that Paramar fall to us, and soon. If the Loyalists manage to reinforce it, then it will take a long and costly siege to take it, and we cannot risk that.’

‘Paramar will be yours within three solar months. I promise this to you Warmaster, and I always keep my promises.’

‘Very good.’ Hektor replied, turning away. Aubrey hadn’t heard his name mentioned once. He yearned for a task, a chance to show the Gods his fervour, to gift them sacrifices and show the Imperium the true Truth, the truth his false father had tried to hide.

‘What of me Warmaster? What is my task in all this? Do you wish me to contact Sebastian Rex and The Bulwark, so see if we can have them side with us?’ The Bulwark were a wild card, neither side knew who they would side with, they were renegades beholden to no-one. Yet.

‘He will be dealt with in due time. No, I have a greater task for you. The War Scribes have retreated towards their stellar realm. If left there, they will rebuild and rearm. We cannot allow that. You will be paired with Inferox, and together you will wipe their enclave from the galactic map. I want every last War Scribe purged, the Legion erased from history. Can you do this?’

‘I don’t know about him, but I will leave the War Scribes nothing more than Ashes. I will burn them all.’ Inferox didn’t raise his voice, but the deadly intent in his voice was heard by all, as he gestured at Aubrey. There was little love lost between them both, but Aubrey nodded, thoughts coiling in his head. Later he would ask the Gods of what he could do, and what path he could take.

‘So.’ Hektor turned to face them all, sword drawn. ‘We all know our tasks. We all know what is asked of us. The cost of error has never been higher – the rewards, beyond imagination. Despite all we have achieved so far, the Emperor and his followers will fight hard, and to the death to deny us. Doubtless much blood has yet to be spilled, theirs and ours alike. But the prize is the Galaxy entire. Are you with me?'

The assembled warriors cheered as one. ‘Aye! Victory for Hektor! Death to the Emperor! Death to the Emperor! Death! Death! Death!’

Aubrey found himself caught up in the mood, cheering along with his brothers, even as he knew what dark forces lurked beneath, the Gods that demanded all from them, and who they all would serve in the end. This was not Hektor’s War, much as he might believe it. This was the God’s war, their struggle against the Anatheme, and it was for them, not Hektor that Aubrey fought. Under his breath he added an appendment to their cheers.

‘For the dark gods!’

The Burning of Alessia

His grey eyes flickered across the assembled data-screens, darting from one end of the cycling display to the other. The faint green backlight from the screens were all that illuminated the large circular chamber, with the logic engines and tactical displays making up the vast majority of the room's walls.

He drew in a slow breath, turning over this puzzle in his mind. This was his throne-room, his sanctum, his greatest hall—and today he had naught left to him but one final tribe, the eponymous Thunder Kings, where twelve ought together stand. He did not bear his sword and shield today, and the screens did not display the miasma of information he found so much beauty and truth in. There was nothing to command today, and his patience—infinite as it was—had long begun to set into weariness and bitterness.

Agrica had stood with him, solemn and silent as a statue throughout it all. The tall, fair-haired Astartes looked as if he might have been handsome once, but a lifetime of war had imparted upon him a steel jaw and plentiful other skin regrafts along his face. He'd kept his eyes forward for all these long weeks, imparting some small . . comfort to the brooding Primarch. He didn't have to stay. He should have gone, to fight for whomever he thought best, but he did.

It was a long while before Brennus finally spoke, his ordinarily calm, thunderous voice now sounding soft, and solemn.

“I know now my failure,” he said, looking towards Agrica. If the Astartes was alarmed, he gave no notice, and merely turned to straight back at his progenitor. “Where one legion should stand, I have created twelve. Respectively united by shared fraternity, perhaps—but what was I but their commander, in truth? Not a father.”

Agrica said nothing. Not yet.

Brennus continued, pausing only briefly to examine his son's expression. As he looked back towards the screens and continued, a wry smile now appeared on his face.

“It is fitting that only one tribe remains. Only one legion. Agrica, I am proud and flattered that you waited here, where you need not have. There must be one legion. One,” the Primarch spat out. His form shook as an uncharacteristic vehemence seized him, his throne groaning as he now—after weeks—finally stood.

“Not all that have fallen are vanquished,” faithfully intoned Agrica, bobbing his head slightly forward.

Brennus let out a withering sigh, each heavy step causing the machines around him to rattle. He stalked towards the heavy door leading out from his throne-room, pausing just one pace before it. Agrica now too moved forward, taking up a position beside his master. “We are not yet fallen,” Brennus whispered, “Not yet. I cannot forgive Selioax, however—and I cannot forgive Alessia. It must burn.”

And though it pained him, Agrica agreed.

The Battle of Belahaam

Darius had sensed the growing darkness long before the first astro-projections had come bearing the ill news of what had happened at Istvaan V. Darius felt sick to his stomach. How could this have happened, and worse how could he not have seen this. He had visited all his brother Primarchs and had often looked into their futures. If only he had dove deeper....

No matter, it was too late to dwell on past mistakes. All Darius could do now was look to the future and hope he could still make a difference. Rallying his legion for Holy Terra not knowing what he would soon be getting into. As they drew close to Belahaam, a sector near Nocturne, Darius felt a massive flux in the warp. The Voidwatcher and his legion had begun secretly operating in the region, using the ancient text provided by Uriel. Realizing what was going on, Darius began channeling a spell to contain the growing storm, but it required his complete attention to maintain.

Having corrupted nearby Guard and PDF units over to chaos, Voidwatcher used their fleet to engage Darius. He didn't care if they succeeded or not, they were merely the bait. As the Sand Keepers engaged the traitor guard fleet, the Black Augur's fleet appeared from behind, though the psychics of the Keepers had already foreseen this and quickly turned their ships to face the new threat. In reality this was yet another distraction as several Black Augur squads began boarding the Sand Keeper ships. Several ships were sabotaged before the Keepers realized what was going on and several pitched battles erupted on the ships.

Meanwhile on the surface of Nocturne, The Sand Keepers 1st company, the Immortals, deep struck down near the site of the ritual only to find a swarm of guardsmen and a Black Augur company defending it. The crazed cultists bellowed and shrieked incoherently as they charged them and the terminators quickly ran to meet them. As the lines crashed into each other there was never any doubt as to who would be the victor, even the Augur could do little against their mighty terminator armor. The guards fell in droves all around the Immortals as they advanced, the body of an Augur strewn among every other one. But this was another trap! When the Immortals got about half way through the guardsmen and cultists several units of Black Augur tanks had surrounded them. Soon the thunderous roar of cannon fire descended upon the Immortals. Armed with power weapons and storm bolters, there was little the Immortals could do even with their psykers.

Without a choice they pressed on, ignoring as the cannons rained death upon them, but it slowed them enough to allow the Augurs to regroup and redouble their efforts. The bloody battle raged on with the Immortals inching their way forward while being hounded by the tanks the whole way. When they finally arrived they quickly went to work cutting down the last of the Black Augurs, however, it was too late.

Darius's battleship lurched and rumbled as cannon fire pierced its hull. Every shake threatened to break his concentration on the spell that was holding back the warp storm. His legion was fighting hard to commandeer enough ships to even the odds but every death only made it harder. With every scream of pain and dying thought the warp stirred, fighting to get out of his grasp. Sweat trickled down his forehead and along his face.

On the bridge of Darius's command ship, a Lord of Change materialized itself before Darius along with a host of Flamers of Tzeetch. The crew did their best to defend against it. Torrents of Warp flame and doom bolts flew in every direction and many of the proud Keepers died where they stood. The greater daemon slew marine and librarian alike with ease until it reached Darius. Knowing he would have to defend himself, Darius released his spell over the warp to block a doom bolt.

At that moment the battle was lost. In a flash the warp storm erupted from the ritual site on the planet, engulfing The Immortals and the remaining guardsmen on the planet. The Voidwatcher shook his head slowly as his brothers entire legion was caught and dragged into the storm. It was a shame that Darius did not see how foolish the Emperor's cause was. In the end he was just another blind fool.

Battle of Rai

Primarch Gaspard Lumey stood hunched over a star map, brightly lit by a sea of colorful emblems. One disappeared, a traitor light cruiser torn apart by a lance broadside. Another flashed and turned red, an allied Overlord class battlecruiser "Righteous Hatred" taking critical damage and requesting assistance. The battle for Rai, the home world of the traitorous Life Bringer legion has been going on for over a whole day now, with little signs of progress. The Void Angels and 73rd fleet of the Imperial Navy tasked with pacification of this important bastion and staging ground for the murderous Chaos space marines thought it an easy job, yet an unexpectedly fast return of the bulk of Life Bringer fleet turned what was supposed to be a quick and overwhelming strike into a painfully slow crawl, the punishing fire from enemy ships and defense stations exacting a heavy toll for every small advance.

Finally, he found just what he was looking for. "Heaven's Fury", a heavy strike cruiser at the core of Life Bringer formation, lost its Void shields and could be finished off with a concentrated attack. Lumey shouted orders into his vox and immediately several Imperial ships moved in on the crippled vessel: 4 Navy battlecruisers surrounding "Nurgle's Grave", a battle barge of the Entombed legion, transporting Primarch Golgothos himself. With a powerful barrage "Heaven's Fury" was no more and behind her charred wreckage was an opening, a clear line to the Life Bringer flagship "Light of Heart". Reaching the ancient Gloriana-class vessel through the hell of missiles, lance blasts and plasma fire won't be easy, but even a single moment was enough for Golgothos. Caestus assault rams and boarding torpedoes launched from the "Nurgle's Grave", alongside a swarm of fighter squadrons from the Navy ships providing escort. The operation was a success, most of the boarding craft making hull contact with the "Light of Heart" while her point defense batteries were busy annihilating their fighter support.

Golgothos stepped through the breach aboard the Life Bringer flagship and looked around. It was different from how he remembered her after his last visit during Crusade days. Still the same white banners with the bandaged heart symbol of the Life Bringers, still the same orderly hallways, yet somehow not right. Maybe the smell picked up by his sensors, maybe the weird slick grease coating some spots on the walls, something those usually orderly marines wouldn't have tolerated before. There was no time for sight seeing though, Life Bringer tactical squads were already taking position down the hall while the heavy dreadnoughts of the Entombed and Void Angel breacher squads were still hurrying in. "We should be in about 4th deck on the port side right now" - the voice of the Void Angel epistolary Pierre De Valois was quiet and confident. "According to the blueprints the way to the bridge is to the right, through the main hall. We would be exposed from ..."

"MOVE OUT!"

With that the Entombed walked forward, the dreadnoughts crushing the scrambling Life Bringers with their assault cannons. Void Angels followed, leaving a few squads to guard the boarding rams. Soon enough they were facing serious resistance and Pierre almost recoiled in shock. "These... things, what ARE they? Did they poison themselves?" he asked, still finding it hard to believe that the shambling mutants and vomit-inducing plague marines standing against him were once his brothers in the Emperor's service. "That's what they have become, and they will die for it!" answered Golgothos while crushing a plague marine's head in his power fist. To Pierre's surprise he was extremely fast, the masterfully piloted chassis moving with speed he didn't think possible for such a huge war machine, and with the Entombed at the front the boarders were moving quickly as they cut their way through the rushing defenders. As they closed in towards the bridge the advance slowed. The Life Bringers positioned devastator squads with lascannons and missile launchers behind hastily improvised barricades and brought out their elite.

Seraph Guard terminators, now appearing as rotten, bloated caricatures of the once noble Life Bringer first company, shrugged off heavy bolter fire and plasma blasts like mere annoyance while breaking apart the Entombed with power fists and forcing Void Angels into cover behind the dreadnoughts with a relentless hail of chem-filled bolter rounds. Golgothos slowed a bit, taking some time to overlook the battlefield between attacks. His sensors picked up his prey, a large terminator armored figure moving among the wounded Life Bringers. It would fire a few bursts at the boarders, only to kneel over another body for a moment. A few movements and the enemy just thought dead once again rose up to his feet and continued the fight. Without a single word, Golgothos and the Entombed charged at Johannes, sweeping aside the Seraph Guard squad blocking the path. "I greet you as well, brother" - the Life Bringer primarch spoke as he narrowly avoided the blast from the dreadnought demolisher cannon. "There is so much pain and sorrow in this galaxy, it is a shame you would not help us cure it." Another cannon shot was the only answer the leader of the Entombed chose to respond with. As the two primarchs faced each other in a duel Pierre quickly ordered his troops to take position and hold back the rest of the Life Bringers.

Golgothos could handle Vrach, the Void Angels just had to keep it a fair fight.

While the skies of Rai were alight by the space battle above it, Thunderhawks marked with the insignia of the Scale Bearers legion dispatched the space marines and their faithful warbeasts into the thick jungle. The Scale Bearers could only send one company to assist the Void Angels in this mission and opted to use the confusion in space to sneak their single strike cruiser behind Life Bringer defenses, dropping onto the homeworld of the traitor legion undetected. Accustomed to this kind of environment, the Scale Bearers easily moved through the vegetation, cutting a path through tough vines with their chainswords. It didn't take long until they came upon the overgrown white walls of Abeni Asha enclave. Abeni Asha was one the largest settlements on Rai and a highly important strategic location, housing the primary spaceport and many military supply depots, but it wasn't their target. Engaging the PDF there would have drawn significant attention from the Life Bringers in orbit and severely endanger the civilian population they sought to liberate. Instead, the Scale Bearers moved towards an isolated compound a fair distance away from the enclave, known only as facility 1-23.

The guards on the outer perimeter were silently disposed of, the marines left by the Life Bringers in reserve no match for the mighty Sors and veteran Astartes of the Scale Bearers. Having taken a key card from a guard and easily hacked the security lock the Emperor's space marines entered facility 1-23 without sounding the alarm. What they saw inside would unnerve even the battle-hardened warriors. Facility 1-23 was a Life Bringer laboratory focused on bioweapon research. Corridors with formerly white walls, now coated in some disgusting, sticky substance, connected room after room full of containment tanks filled with horrifying mutated creatures. Carefully sealed refrigerators preserving test tubes whose contents are better left unknown. Isolated small hospitals, where human and alien test subjects were attended by plague-ridden cultists in sickeningly slimy white-red hazmat suits. The Scale Bearers knew immediately: this place had to be purged. It was not a task to be taken lightly, however, even a single containment leak could doom the whole planet. The space marines dispersed, tactical squads set melta charges and prepared remote detonators while the captain took the company apothecary and techmarine to the main logic engine. Its database held research logs describing each experiment and the fate of every prisoner in excruciating, clinically precise detail, and the Scale Bearer specialists used this knowledge to direct their assault squads as they hacked security systems and utilized the facility's own emergency protocols to safely eradicate the products of this heretical science. The operation didn't succeed, however. A single Life Bringer apothecary, away from his lab as the Scale Bearers entered it, noticed the intrusion and reported it to the flagship. Hiding from the space marines he couldn't hope to defeat alone, the vile plague marine snuck to a secondary control terminal and executed his primarch's order. Even he couldn't have predicted what was about to happen.

Space fleets continued to clash against each other in a bitter stalemate as the boarding party aboard the "Light of Heart" stood at its last breath. Reduced to less than a third of their original strength, the Entombed and Void Angel Astartes still stood defiantly, refusing to back away from the Life Bringers that just didn't seem to die. Pierre De Valois has been fighting a Life Bringer sorcerer. The enemy was stronger, but Pierre was faster and his swift and sudden strikes whittled down the decaying body of Nurgle's champion as he masterfully deflected psychic assaults against his mind. Next to him a similar scene was unfolding between the dueling primarchs, Golgothos earth-shattering blows meeting against quick and surgically precise swipes of Johannes lightning claw. Golgothos dreadnought frame was heavily damaged, his armor riddled with corroded holes and the powerful demolisher cannon long since silenced due to severed control cables and a jammed joint. Nevertheless, he was clearly the superior fighter and Johannes Vrach looked even worse, bleeding putrid ichor from uncountable wounds all over his corrupted body. It was in this moment that the news of Scale Bearer attack on facility 1-23 reached Johannes and he gave the order that defined the fate of the sector: "So Rai is lost then. Release containment at all labs, all ships retreat. Set course for the Eye of Terror." Turning towards Golgothos he promised to return here eventually, but his words were cut short by deafening screams erupting from everywhere at once.

Pierre has locked his blade against the sorcerer's force staff a moment ago, yet now both bitter opponents were merely propping themselves against each other, struggling to even stand as the tortured wails of billions of souls barraged their minds. Barely enduring the cacophony he turned his head towards the nearest view port and immediately saw its source: Rai. What has been a lush jungle with busy enclaves where millions of people lived and worked has become a giant ball of writhing red biomass, an unholy mix of living concrete, metal and demonic flesh rapidly growing gigantic tendrils which lashed and grabbed unfortunate ships in orbit while the pained screams of the entire planet echoed across the Warp. Turning his head away Pierre heard the screams mixing with maniacal laughter as he saw the body of the Life Bringer primarch twist and burst, the flesh of Johannes Vrach merging with the metal of his armor upon his ascension to daemonhood. Leaning unsteadily on the hilt of his blade which he had almost subconsciously thrust in the heart of the falling sorcerer, Pierre could barely make out the silhouette of Golgothos delivering a crushing blow to the demon prince and Life Bringers hurrying to aid their progenitor as the entombed primarch turned towards his battle brothers. He couldn't hear what Golgothos ordered, only feel himself picked up by a cold dreadnought power fist before drifting into unconsciousness, overwhelmed by the screams of pain around him.

At the command center of the Imperial forces, Gaspard Lumey frantically contacted the fleet, straining his voice to the limit to be heard over the deafening wails. The Life Bringers were fleeing, yet the unnatural abomination on Rai was an even greater threat, infecting every starship its tendrils touched and turning it into more of itself, another screaming demonic monstrosity rushing towards the Emperor's servants, firing its weapons at everything in range and corrupting more ships in turn. It was a relief to hear most of the Scale Bearers managed to teleport away from ground zero and escaped the gruesome fate of the majority of warships caught too close to the planet, but the battle was not yet won. With perfectly coordinated efforts under Lumey's command, the Void Angels and Imperial Navy routed and destroyed the terrifyingly deadly, but thankfully mindless infected vessels. Only when the Void Angels consigned Rai to Exterminatus and completely annihilated the writhing monstrosity on its surface did the endless screams finally stop and the battle end in victory. This mission has claimed the lives of many, the majority of the 73rd fleet a sizable number of Void Angel ships have met their end at the hands of the insane Chaos space marines and the corrupting tendrils of their unexpected creation. While the Imperial soldiers counted their losses, one of the Entombed Undertakers delivered a list, reporting primarch Golgothos, around a hundred of their most experienced venerable dreadnoughts and the battle barge "Nurgle's Grave" with her entire crew and techmarine support staff as killed in action. Before Lumey could protest, the "Nurgle's Grave" activated her warp drive and jumped in last known escape direction of the Life Bringers, straight into the Eye of Terror.

The entire sector was quarantined under explicit order of the Void Angel primarch following the event. Though few in the Imperium know what happened there, since the participating voidsmen had the memories of battle wiped from their minds and none of the chapters of Adeptus Astartes want to speak about it, the region of space has gained a reputation as cursed area and few dare to go near. Enforcing the quarantine is a quiet, uneventful position for the Navy crews, yet despite this few volunteer for it, fearing the tales of frequent nightmares and astropaths hearing faint screams echoing between the unsalvaged wreckages in the old starship graveyard surrounding this dead planet.

End of the Line

“The Lord General's orders are as follows: Task Force Gleaming Sceptor shall proceed to Phase Line Chronus, engage and destroy all traitoro-” There was a sudden flash of static. He felt a breeze brush his shoulder, and as he turned his head he caught the faintest glimpse of a Maledictum medium tanks' turret flittering in the air. As secondary explosions ripped apart the now topless Maledictum, Vox Caster Luxus's own opened topped APC popped reflective smoke and accelerated. As the driver and stub gunner began to argue over whether it was a lucky artillery round or a sign of Traitor encirclement, Luxus returned to his transcription of the transmission. Blood still stained the Vox Casting equipment from his predecessor: Lux himself had been hastily trained to replace the previous caster and had never handled anything more complex than an autogun's receiving mechanism until two nights ago.

“HQ, this is 3rd Battalion, D Company, please restate and confirm orders, over?”

There was another explosion, this time forward, a low hill blocking line of sight. B company had already wheeled off to the right flank in the event the traitors had successfully maneuvered around the screening battalions. A Mastadonii lance had been probing their column the last three days, and HQ had been silent on their whereabouts. “HQ, this is 3-” Lux was again cut off, this time by a gruff voice almost as explosive as the Maledictum had been. “Clear this net! Primary thrust will commence in T-minus 3 minutes, mark. The Emperor expects nothing short of decisive victory, and today we, the 27th Gregorus Armored Infantry, will do part in His just cause.” With that the Vox was silent. Luxus reached forward and knocked on the drivers helmet. “Get us to the Colonel!”

Luxus was barely audible over the great din of whirring treads as the great might of the 27th Gergorus Armored Infantry Regiment, Heavy, began to regroup with their parent companies and battalions. Luxus' transport zigged and zagged between the various columns, coming alongside and matching speed with a Baneblade, the barrel adorned with a white petaled carnivorous flower and flanked by a dozen other similar vehicles. Luxus stepped onto the side railing of his own carrier, grabbing onto the side of the formidable weapon bastion. He continued his climb to the turret.

There, observing his squadron of Baneblades was Colonel Morgrest, his blue eyes and large, weatherworn face eyeing the quickly approaching hills in front of him.

“Colonel!” Morgrest looked. A short, young looking trooper in a misfitted maroon uniform offered forth a piece of parchment. Morgrest glanced at it and nodded to Luxus who began the short scamper back to his crawler. His own vehicle's Vox had been stripped long before it arrived here on Zhuko V, where his unit had not so much as finished disembarking when they had been ushered to awaiting tanks, neatly arrayed in rows with field manuals placed on every crew station seat.

Many, such as him, were lucky to have been drivers and communicators aboard the roving Ranch Rigs that tended the Avian cattle of Gregorus. Most however were from the commercial cities, not overly suited for grunt work much less the teamwork and technical skills required for tankmenship. Their loses in the last few weeks had reflected that. He swithced his makeshift Vox repeater to the squadron net. “Assume wedge formation, my Mourning Gloria shall take point. Do not drop out under any circumstances: if you are not out of fuel or ammo, then you are not out of the fight! All crews, turn down.” And with that, the Colonel descended into the red lighted confines of his steed, sealing the hatch over him.

“All vehicles, fast advance!” As one, the baneblades increased their speed. For as far as the eye could see to the left and to the right, the tan and maroon war machines of the 27th roared forward, a wall of armor. Over the line of hills, smoke and tracers could be seen pouring into the air. The Colonel glanced at a wall mounted chronometer.

“Driver, decelerate by 1/8th.” The timing would have to be perfect. “All crews, prepare for contact.”

Just as the Vox clicked off, the hills infront of them exploded into a wall of dirt and silt. Jetbike riding engineers had rigged the hill for demolition the night before, and now the only remaining obstacle between him and the enemies of his newly beloved Emperor was gone. His squadron charged into the breach, their mighty guns blaring...

“Driver, adjust heading 1.4 degrees. Gunner, target Stormblade, Fire! Left bastion, suppress war engine crew. Driver, mine field 40 meters. Right bastion, prioritze medium chassises. Second Gunner, mine... layer front , bearing 47. Bastion gunners, weapons free. Hulls 2 and 7, tighten formation!” And so it went. Order were given, reports were taken in, ground was gained. Slowly, the vox chatter grew quiter and quiter as the vehicles of his squadron slowly joined the other metal pyres that threatened to be confused for the Zhuko V's sun rising in the south.

The Lord General emerged from his opulent Command Chariot to the distinct sounds of bickering adults, a sound he had not been able to grow used to even with his many years of conquests. “I tell you they have all gone traitor. I know these farmers all too well!” The rolly polly face of General Kerimeistn rose from the crowd of officers and intelligents techs that were crouched over the primary command board. General Kerimeistn swiftly made his way to the Lord General and bowed before him. “Your Lordship, due tell them how I warned you time and time again that mere agricultural workers at the helms of such tremendous machines would only invite disaster and turncoatism.” The Lord General was not listening. He pushed aside Kerimeistn: the rest of his officers, dressed in the finest Exiran Blue with the occasional Maroons and yellows of other units attached to his division, rose to allow the Lord General a view of the active map. An Exiran officer stepped forward. “Sir, Task Force Gleaming Scepter consisting of the 37th Gregorus Armored Infantry, the 2123th Exiran Armored Brigade and the 782 Exiran Armored Brigade, per your orders, advanced from phase line Baptize to phase line Chronus. The 2123th and 782nd managed to reach and hold the position. Most of the 37th was annihilated, but it appears several formations have advanced beyond phase line Chronus.”

“To join the traitors,” snarled Kerimeistn. The Exiran officer narrowed his eyes at the General. “Actually, Lord General, judging from the reports we are receiving, they have been destroying traitors. A great abundance of them. Infact...” he turned to look at the Vox operators, a large command set sitting at the foot of the map screen in the center of the field tent. The Vox operator looked up from his set. “They count 400 confirmed kills. Most likely more, but traitor indirect fires forced our scout tanks back.” A stunned silence fell across those gathered. The officer turned back to the board. “They appear to heading in a straight path. We put them 90 klicks past Phase Line Chronus. All attempts to reach them by Vox have failed.” The silence continued until finally, the Lord General spoke. “The next time you have to teach an infantry formation the proud tenants of mechanized warfare, General Kerimeistn, make sure you teach them how to read a map. I am glad to see though, that your lessons in cowardice have gone completely unheeded.” General Kerimeistn fumed, his face turning red while sweat began to bead upon his forehead. The Lord General stepped away from the screen table and returned to his command vehicle.

Another two hours past. Targets for a time had grown sparser. Now, there was a noticeable uptick. At first, contact was being made every 30 minutes. There was a burst of fire from the right bastoon gun. Its gunners had already been killed, but the Colonel only cared that that span had just now been reduced to five minutes. They were nearing the enemy, but not fast enough. “Technician, how many more meters can we squeeze from her?” A pained voice rose up from the depths of the warmachine “ The gauges reached empty four klicks ago my Colonel, we shall be immobile soon.”

The Baneblade suddenly entered a clearing. All around them were hulks, chassis, the faint outlines of their rotting crews dispersed between, yet here was a patch of undtrodden, prestine low grass that had by some miracle remained virgin in this orgy of steel and shell. It was as good a place as any. By now their handiwork had caught up to them: a thick black cloud of acrid smoke from a hundred burning vehicles now hung all around them. The Baneblade was beginning to slow. The driver cursed, and despite all his pounding upon the Accel-pedal the Baneblade only crawled, then came to a halt. “Driver, running lights!”

The Colonel unlocked his hatch and opened it. The blood soaked torso of a traitor tanker slid off the cupula. It thudded against the hull of the Baneblade, coming to rest on the green earth with a sickening plop. All was quiet, save for the wind pushing the thick cloud ever farther north. Beyond the initial ring of flood light illuminated husks, all was black save for a few lingering fires. 

1st Gunner Norus slid over and tugged on the Colonel's boots. “Morgrest, we've no more shells. Does that mean we're finally...out of it, sir?” The Colonel felt it before he heard it. Even with the tons of armor and machinery below him, the vibrations reverberated. It was coming from all directions now, and faintly, just faintly he could hear the creeking of treads and the blaring of war horns. The Colonel reached and drew his sidearm. It was a ranch pistol, a high caliber, revolving weapon, its hilt a white pearl made of the egg carapace of his homeworld. Within it were seven rounds. “Far from it Norus...far from it.” The baneblades flood lights died.

The Saber of Terra

Terra was burning.

Weeks of Bombardment followed by days of brutal bloodshed had torn and disfigured the face of the throneworld. The forces of the bastard Warmaster were even now grinding towards the palace, tightening the noose around the Imperial Throne. Every man and woman who could were even now fighting back as hard as they could, doing everything possible to slow the attacks, to buy as much time as possible before they reached the shadow of the Palace, and the real struggle began.

Arturia Eld, Lord of the Knights of Accolon had immediately mustered her household and marched south with ten of her Knights, leaving the rest to stand beside the Regent of Terra and his Astartes. She was under no impressions that her knights could hold back the tide, but she could bleed the traitors, hammering them time and time again to inflict as much damage as possible and support the beleaguered Imperial Army forces.

The distant scene visible in her mount’s mechanical eyes was a shattered graveyard of twisted metal and fire. A hellscape of blazing craters, scores of wrecked tanks and thousands of dismembered bodies.

Thousands of giant warriors bearing the Eye Star of the Warmaster pushed forward behind heavy breacher shields. Against small-arms fire and even medium gauge weapons they offered effective protection, but against the kinds of guns the defenders had trained on them, they just weren’t up to the job. Each advance left a trail of bodies, limbless corpses and tributaries of blood to fill craters with red lakes. Thousands of Astartes were falling, yet thousands more were advancing.

‘Come on, my lord,’ urged Dux Cynric, one of her foremost Knights. ‘Let’s break them! Smash each one apart in turn until we roll the entire line up.’

She wanted to give the order. Oh, how she wanted to give that order. But she had fought a thousand battles before and she could clearly see the danger.

‘Yes, we could break one, probably two, maybe even three of the shieldwalls, but that will be all,’ she replied, feeling Caliburn’s ire at her refusal to ride. ‘Then we would be overwhelmed by the artillery and dragged down by their infantry. An ignoble death. Hardly knightly. No, there are other targets for us, ones which will make a far greater difference to the struggle.’

Her keen eyes scanned around, until they were immediately drawn to an up-armoured Spartan as it smashed through a rockcrete wall, slamming down on bollard tank traps and crushing them beneath its weight.

A banner streamed from the rear of both track guards, each bearing a serpentine caduceus. Gunfire sparked from the Spartan’s armour and Raeven saw the direct hit of a lascannon strike its flank where the right-side quad sponson had been sheared off. It should have blown a hole right into the vehicle.

Instead, the energy of the shot dissipated at the moment of impact and a bloom of fire enveloped the tank, setting the twin serpent banners ablaze.

‘Flare shield,’ she said, recognising similar tech to the ion shields of Caliburn.

This was a target worthy of her Knights.

‘Rally to me!’ she commanded. ‘Target is the Spartan to your ten. Cearl, Guoroar, Anirin, blow her open.’

‘Aye my lord!’ came the chorus of voices, as her knights began to move. Cearl, the ‘Wallbreaker’ took up position. His Castellan Knight was a heavy weapons platform, ideal for destroying large targets. Targets like that Spartan.

His Laser Destroyer opened up, the beams being barely blocked by the Spartan’s Flare Shield. The Spartan slowly turned, bringing its quad lascannons to bear, but Cearl was a master of snap fire, and he moved with it, denying it the chance to pummel his armour.

Meanwhile it had given the chance for Guoroar and Anirin to close, and now they were within range of their Errants Thermal Cannons.

With a hiss and a roar they opened up, and the Flare shield, already overtaxed by Cearl’s fire was unable to stop them.

The Spartan shuddered as its armour was turned to slag.

The front of the Spartan pistoned open in front of Arturia’s eyes. She saw something move in the space within, something that glinted dully in the fire.

And emerging from the Spartan…

Aubrey the Grey, bastard son, chosen of the gods, his armour blackened was down on one knee, one hand pressed to the side of his Spartan, as though mourning its passing. Blood slicked one side of his dark battleplate and a length of pipework pierced his side like a spear.

Arturia glared down at the traitor Primaerch, and she had never felt so sure, so righteous in the anticipation of a kill. Her arms burned hot with the readiness of her stubber cannons and the crackling energy of her mighty warblade.

She was a knight. She would fight this traitorous whoreson in fair and single combat, would kill him, and thus give the loyalists a true morale boost. They would see their foes were not all powerful gods, they could bleed and die like any man or woman.

‘This target is mine.’ commanded Arturia.

I should be dead.

Nerve endings on fire. Pain. Pain like he’d never known. Not even when he’d faced the kiss of Bohemonds mighty blade on Isstvan V.

I should be dead.

No time to reflect that he wasn’t. Deal with the pain. Force it down into the pit. Endure it later.

Aubrey rose to face the mighty Knight standing before him. The knight hadn’t simply killed him while he was down. Now that he was standing, it gestured, make a short bow and flourished its warblade.

It wants to fight.

He smiled. It had been too long since he had matched blades with a worthy foe. And instead of simply killing him, this Knight would willingly give away the advantages it had mere seconds ago, and cross blades with one it had no hope of matching.

"...Your faith, it is a cancer..." he whispered, as he unsheathed his twin blades.

Emerald eyes flashed dangerously, like venomous serpents towards the optics of the Knight, his gaze seemingly piercing through the screen as they blazed with the fury of a demi-god.

"I shall remove it."

He dived as the Knight’s blade sped towards him, parrying with Jörmun while Gandr flicked out, aiming at the Knight’s servos. At the last second the Knight stepped out of the way before bringing another crashing blow from its huge sword. He caught nit with both blades, before slashing Gandr across the Knight’s chest and the strange markings there. The knight smashed him back with its other arm, before once again bring its blade to bear.

This was not like any duel he had fought before. This Knight was good. Better than anything he had fought outside of his own brothers. It seemed to know where his blows would land, and moved with surprising swiftness to counter them, and could move its own blade with a speed and dexterity that he had never seen a Knight do.

Aubrey launched a series of blistering blows, glancing off the Knight’s thick pauldrons and forcing it to withdraw. He would make this engine and its pilot fight on his terms. Then, he would end it.

The Knight was tough. It absorbed every strike that connected, sucking the power out of the blows, taking the hits and coming back for more. Its armoured form could take more punishment then he had anticipated. It was covered in blade scars, but still fought. His own armour was cracked, the servos wheezing as they struggled to keep him moving at speed.

As he parried another mighty blade-strike, Aubrey felt himself tiring at last. Only rarely had he felt more than trivial stirrings of fatigue. He had fought the greatest champions of xenos races, had brought down creatures that stood as tall as Warhound Titans, had carved his way through fields of greenskins as violent and unending as the tides of the sea on Ullanor and slain his brother on the murder fields of Isstvan, and still he felt tired, exhausted by the competition with this Knight.

Aubrey rolled to his feet and ripped Gandr through a knot of pneumatics at the Knight’s ankle joint. It staggered, gyroscopic servos screaming as they fought to keep the war machine upright. Jörmun then flicked out and severed the Servos in the Knight’s gun arm. As it did, the Knight's blade tore into his shoulder, tearing the pauldron off and sending a spray of blood everywhere. Aubrey snarled in pain as the two broke from combat, facing each other, ready for the final confrontation, until the false peace was shattered.

One of the Knight’s standing guard went down, its upper torso detonating in a cherry red fireball. Aubrey turned to see a squadron of three Fellblades roaring over the wall, guns now thundering at the Knights.

Three Knights were all but obliterated in seconds. A fourth threw its ion shield up just quick enough to deflect the full force of a high-density shell that nevertheless ripped its entire arm and most of its shoulder away.

The Knights were monstrously outgunned and they knew it. The hunting horn of the lead Knight standing before him loosed an ululating blast and they retreated, quit the field of battle. The lead knight made a gesture with its warblade before it turned to flee. Aubrey knew that gesture.

‘This is not done. We will fight again.’

Aubrey relished the thought. Forget his brothers, enslaved for the whims of their false father, that knight, whoever it was in there was a truly worthy opponent, one who he could gift to the Gods, when the Palace fell and Terra was the Warmasters.

Arturia rose from the folding camp-seat and poured a large goblet of wine. Her movements were somewhat stiff. Caliburn had been damaged by the whoreson Aubrey’s attacks, and the repercussions of the Knight’s hurt were borne by her body.

He had been a hard fight. Maybe the hardest of her life. She had learned to fight from a young age, had mastered it. There was no man alive on Cattegirn who could defeat her in swordplay. And until now, she had believed there was no man who could defeat her in bladework when he was bonded with Caliburn.

But Aubrey was as fast as a striking serpent, and it had taken all her preternatural skills to keep up with him. She was only glad his blades were ineffective at cutting the armoured hide of Caliburn.

With the local Imperial commander dead, the task of coordinating the military retreat towards the next line of defence had fallen to her. The Regent of Terra Himself had asked it of her, and she was glad to help him. Anything to keep her mind off her defeat. That task alone was hard enough, but Arturia also had to deal with an ever-growing civilian component. Refugees were streaming in from the north and east, desperate to flee the advancing traitors.

She’d welcomed the burden, the role so consuming it kept her from dwelling on the loss of her Knights, and on her defeat. But now she had more time to reflect, and it all came back.

Dux Guoroar was gone. A brave young man, who she had commended personally for his conduct on 37-04. Dux Oswine, who loved drinking and fighting in equal measure. Dux Pendar, Dux Bors and Dux Korin also. Five of her bravest and best. Five of her Knights, her warriors. All dead by the hand of the traitors.

They would pay. She was a Knight, she would never stoop to their level. But she would make them bleed to avenge her slain warriors. She was the King of Cattegirn and the Lord of the Knights of Accolon. On her honour there would be justice.

‘My lord?’ Dux Aneirin poked his head into the tent.

Arturia turned to him. ‘News?’ she asked. She had been keeping tabs on the global war situation, and so far it did not look good.

‘The Emperor’s Praetorian. He wishes to speak to you. There’s a lander to bear you back to the palace.’

Arturia had been expecting something like this, but not yet. Not now. ‘Fine. Have Thegn Bedieve take over in my absence.’ She hoped the Emperor’s Praetorian had good reason for summoning her.

The Silver Library

Alexandri Anon's version of the Black Library. These are the collection of (hopefully) epic tales that will be at least 20,000 words long and could be 150,000 words.

Currently there the only story being written is The Holocaust on Rosskar.

The Holocaust on Rosskar(Silver Cataphracts Novel)

Eyes But Not Ears(Eyes of the Emperor Novel)

The Fallen Angels(Winged Victory to Void Angels Novel)

Ivory and Ice(The Mastadontii Novel)

The Fiery Hunt(Gorgers Novel)

A Line Without A Beginning(Black Augers Novel)

The Galaxy's Cure(Eternal Zealots Novel)

Choices To Be Made(Children of Armok Novel)

The Many Deaths Of the Scribes(War Scribes Novel)

The Walls Arise(Bulwark/Ramparts Novel)

The Book of Onyx and his Stone Men AKA "the Rockinomicon"

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Onyx drove his hammer into the rock, blasting his way through the limestone like a swimmer through water. The dust covered his face, giving it a grayish yellow tinge. His massive 12' frame towered over the other workers, casting a shadow in a physical and metaphorical sense. The work master had to drive the other stone workers even harder, to appease his superiors who thought that he was letting them off easy. A rather aged man approached Onyx with a hammer in his hands. "Onyx, could you take my shift today? I'm so terribly sorry, but the sores on my hands have been festering more than usual today, the bandages keep tearing after I put them on." Onyx placed his large hand on his friend's shoulder, and took the hammer out of his hand. "It is never an inconvenience to help a friend, Diamodus. Go tend to your wounds, I will make sure you are covered." "Bless you, Onyx. I will bring you some bread and wine on the morrow to show my thanks." Onyx returned to his work, wielding two hammers now, with a renewed vigor. During his midday water break, he could see the work master eying him with a suspicious scowl. Onyx's cold stare was the only response he received. Just as the sun began to sink back into the mountains, Diamodus returned from the Apothecarium, with heavy bandages on his hands. He had gotten an infection from his blisters and required heavy sanitation and medicine.

The work master was no where to be seen, much to the bewilderment of the workers. "perhaps the weasel has run off back to his hole early." mused Onyx. A stifled laughter spread through the retiring workers. The work master did return, however. and he brought with him armed guards, likely sent from his superiors. "Diamodus, I will not allow you to disobey my authority in such a disdainful manner. I will have you interned if the problem persists." "B-but sir, I was only tending to my wounds, I was unable to do anything otherwise..." "All I see are bandages, of which we have plentiful. Are you questioning the work of my on-site apothecaries?" "what? No sir, I just, I-" the work master struck him across the face, busting his lip and bringing him to the ground. Onyx quickly sprang up and clenched his teeth. "give him 10 lashings on the back. I will not be made a fool of." The armed men stepped towards Diamodus, batons in hand. The closest one raised his weapon in preparation. Onyx's hand snatched his arm like a twig, making sure not to crush it, but squeezing just enough to get the point across. "Drop your club, thug" "Do not forget your place, Onyx. You are my employee." "We are not slaves, Overseer. We are free men who have broken no law." The overseer motioned his hand towards Onyx, and the second man pulled a knife from out of his belt and ran at him. Onyx grabbed the blade, drawing only a drop of blood from his heavily caliced hand. He tore the knife from the aissailant's hand, forcing the overseer and his men to back down. "let that be a warning to you." Onyx helped Diamodes up from the dirt, wiping the tiny trickle of blood from his hand on his own garments. "I am again in your debt, friend. But please, do not incur the wrath of the stone guilds, It will only bring woe and sorrow." "I will take your advice, but know that I am not one to take injustice lying down."

Onyx returned to his homestead, greeted by his loving wife Emma. He kneeled down to embrace her, feeling her soft warmness that made his stony exterior just a bit softer. Her skin was reddish-tan, like a wet clay riverbed during the growing season. Her eyes a deeper green than any emerald a jeweler could ever hope to see. And her glossy, flowing, black hair was richer than the deepest coal veins in the world. "Your face brings me more comfort than any metal in the earth, my love." "It is nice to see you as well, husband. I am sure someone else is even happier to see you..." A small girl, no older than 10 came running from behind the doorway, arms outstretched. "Father! Father!" "Diana! My sweet little gemstone, come give your father a hug." She jumped into his arms, her black hair flowing in the late-day breeze. She kept her mother's beatiful hair, but her skin was just a touch grey, as if her father had passed onto her his dusty complexion. Her amber eyes were a mystery however, likely a gift from heaven itself. Onyx looked at his wife and daughter. They were dwarfed by him. His hands were like maws that could easily crush the two of them. However, living in a world two times too small had taught him to control his strength. "Father?" "yes my twinkling peridot?" "I found a shiny rock in the river today, and I didn't know what it was. Mother told me to ask you." Diana dropped the small gem into Onyx's large open palm. He placed it between his thumb and forefinger, and brought it close to his eye. It was a bit of quartz, quite common and rather mundane. One could find a pound by sifting a riverbed for a day. "What is it Father? A diamond?" Onyx smiled and looked at his daughter "It is the most beautiful and valuable crystal I have ever laid my eyes on."

Onyx returned to work the next day to find Diamodus working as usual. The work master was present as well, though unusually reserved. At noon, during the daily water break, a group of men confronted the workmaster in the distance. Onyx was suspicious, and the tense atmosphere reflected that. The men soon left, and the workers returned to the stone. As the sun once again began to sink into tge mountains, The men returned. With them, a squad of armed men. They marched into the quarry, boltpistols holstered under their trenchcoats. One of them walked up to Diamodus and pulled their gun up to his forehead. "Wha-" BLAM Diamodus fell to the ground, blood seeping from the cavity in his head. Onyx grabbed the man's hand and crushed it along with the pistol, shattering his entire arm and causing him to shriek in pain. The other men began to pull out their weapons, but Onyx threw the man by his arm at the rest, sending them to the ground. He then threw their bodies into the river, sending them downstream to drown. The overseer peeked from behind a block of marble, and Onyx grabbed his face, smothering him. He threw him by his head, breaking his neck as his limp body collided with the quarry wall.

Onyx rushed home, well aware that there would be consequences for his actions. He remembered how Diamodus had promised to bring him bread and wine. Onyx returned to his home to find it swarming with similar armed men, this time with slightly more tactical equipment. He broke through the doorframe, knocking many of the intruders onto the ground. He swung his fists harder than any hammer he had ever held. blood, debris, and dust filled the room. Onyx swept the dust from his eyes, and felt bullet wounds sharply in his shoulder and chest; they were only muscle-deep. 10 dead bodies lay on the floor. Onyx turned to see his atrium door ajar. He rushed in to find his wife and daughter lying in a pool of blood. He felt their skin; cold and stony. Onyx lifted picked up the head of his deceased daughter, and stroked her hair. "So small" He thought "so fragile" Onyx often had nightmares involving him crushing his wife and child, usually from something mundane such as a hug. Now he didn't need to be afraid of that because they were already dead.

Onyx heard the sound of auto guns loading behind him. He turned slowly to find a line of armed men aiming at him. His teeth clenched and his veins bulged. His eyes glowed with a fiery light, and he roared fiercely like a berserker. He tore a support column from it's foundation and tore through the men like paper dolls. The house began to crumble around him as armored vehicles arrived at the scene. They moved their bolter turrets toward the wrecked house, looking for movement. A massive stone brick flew through the air, going straight through the windshield and head of a driver and his vehicle, impacting the gunner's abdomen. Onyx jumped onto the hood of the truck, and tore the bolter from the hood. He pulled the trigger and filled the remaining men with bolts. Then he jumped down and looked on towards the horizon where the mountains were. He turned and looked the other direction, towards the town centre. He slung the bolter over his shoulder and began walking on to the city.

Chapter 2: The Rebellion

Onyx's battle armor was covered in nicks and burn marks, even some full bullet holes and cracks. He looked out into the night sky as his artillery rained down upon the capital. bombers whizzed overhead, going to deliver their payload unto the remaining defenders. Onyx opened the flaps to the tent where his commanders discussed the possible strategies they could use to make it inside the city. Auto turrets prevented them from getting past the walls, but the bombers should have destroyed the power plant, cutting off the power and leaving defenseless.

It had been only 5 months since the start of the revolution. The rebel forces controlled 3 of the 5 continents, and the last two were sure to follow after the capital fell. "Is there something you would like to say, commander Onyx?" asked basilus, the leader of the ground regiments and tank battalions. "The bombers are on their way to the city. I think we should begin to discuss attacking the city walls." "Aye, and I've been blockin' the ports all the way from here to Damascus for a fortnight. They can't hold out for much longer." agreed Regis Tungsten, the Admiral of the (former) governor's navy. "Then it's settled. We prepare the troops at dawn, and march right after the sun rises in the east. In the meantime, we continue the air raids until midnight. Now go and rest, I want you all well equipped for this offensive. We may yet have an end to all this violence soon." Onyx retreated to his quarters in the makeshift barracks on the mountains he once watched the sun set upon. So much had happened in 5 months, It was hard to believe it had happened at all. But here he was, at the fringes of the capital, ready to bring the lord king to his knees at the foot of the rebellion. His eyes shut and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep, as he had every night after that tragic day.

Onyx adorned his armor and loaded his stolen bolter turret he had torn from a police vehicle. "Are you sure you do not want a better, uh, more suitable weapon, commander?" asked a young quartermaster. "Waste not the things you have simply because there is a slightly better version in stock. If I use this for even just one day more until it finally gives out, not only will I have a shiny new bolter waiting for me back here, but I will have one extra day to use it." Onyx walked with basilus along the front of the ground regiments. Tanks and armored troop carriers revved with diesel-fueled anticipation. "The troops are fed, rested, armed, and ready to march at your word, commander." said basilus. Onyx looked across the line of soldiers with a steeled expression. "Well? What are you waiting for? Let us take this city from the wasteful lords and put in tje hands of the people!" Cheering and hollering rang out across the regiments, and they marched on towards the capital.

As expected, the auto turrets were down, leaving the city walls defenseless. A couple of tank rounds blew a hole through the metal gates, and an infantry charge surged in. Onyx was around the center of the column, leading armored vehicles with gunners and tanks behind them. The defenders were few and weakened by the seige, so many surrendered at the first sight of battle. Eventually they made their way to the citadel of the city, the lord regent's palace. Suddenly auto turrets emerged all around the palace walls. The Infantry Regiments suffered heavy casualties before they could scramble to cover behind buildings. "I THOUGHT YOU SAID THE AUTO TURRETS WERE DEALT WITH, COMMANDER" shouted Basilus from behind a small concrete roadblock. "Apparently the good lord was more prepared than we previously thought. They must be running on reserve power, We can take them out while they're recharging." Onyx picked up his bolter turret and pulled out of his cover, shredding the nearest auto turret. The others spun around, but began to hum and spin up before they could fire. The tank battalions decimated the turrets, and Onyx lead the charge into the palace.

Onyx kicked down the giant ornate doors to the throne room to find the lord regent on his throne, shouting commands to his troops over the radio. He looked up at the armored giant before him and scrambled for his communicator. "I need backup! Guards! Guards!" he shouted. A wave of men with electrified batons poured from behind him. Onyx swatted them away like flies, their shock bats merely annoying him. "My 'lord', decadent and pitiful as always." said Onyx in a mocking tone. "You think yourself some kind of liberator? A hero of the revolution? The pinnacle of freedom? The same corrupt systems that developed under me will soon develop under your rule as well; it's simply a fact of human nature! If you were to lay down your arms this second I might be lenien-" Onyx slapped him across the face, shattering his nose and teeth. "Your words mean nothing to me. Begone." The former regent was taken by a group of infantrymen to await a trial. Onyx looked at his throne. Gold, wood, ornate carvings, electronic devices, and cushions covered it from top to bottom. It was weak, decadent, and superficial, even the materials it was made of where flimsy and malleable. Onyx tore it apart with ease, leaving a pile of rubble and dust. "I want you to tear this down. all of it." "E-excuse me sir?" asked a bewildered sergeant. "This palace. It must be torn from it's foundation and rebuilt, from a good, strong material. Stone and marble, no precious metals. We have much work to do." Onyx left the room and the soldiers got to work.