Return of the Primarchs

Here's a page for the ongoing Return of the Primarchs setting. At the moment, it is a storage place for ideas.

The Premise

What if, in a giant act of just as planned, Malal, Cegorach, and The God-Emperor of Mankind, in concert with all of the other anti-big 4 chaos gods engineered the return of the Primarchs, from a point in time early enough in the crusade that they all don't hate each other, and a few other changes, notably the removal of Angron's Butcher's Nails and the curing of Kruze's madness. Oh, and they have at least some part of their legions and support staff, so Mechanicum, remembrancers, all that.

The result is a setting based on badassery and manly tears.

Note, due to the premise, the two missing primarchs are also set to return, we've got basic concepts for them that we'll work out in detail later on.

Personae Dramatis

Primarchs

Horus

Has a bit of a meltdown, runs off to be a lone wolf against chaos for a while, setting himself some yet to be decided task. Once he completes it, he can forgive himself.

Ferrus Manus

He has a good head on his shoulders. He remonstrates his legion for their obsessive perfectionism, which lets him help Fulgrim.

Fulgrim

Fulgrim freaks out. First he finds out about the Heresy, but its ok, he has his friend Ferrus. Then the two split up to tour the Imperium, Fulgrim ends up at Ultramar and collapses at the feet of Gorillaman's stasis coffin. Then he learns what he did to Manus. He runs off ala Rossiu, but Manus comes for him. See the story below, as it is awesome.

Magnus

Gets soul-bound to the Emperor. Also he gets decked out by the Grey Knights, with a holy lance sanctified in the Emperor's blood and gets the 666 Rites of Detestation etched onto his back. He is clad in truesilver armor.

Russ

Comes back for the wolftime. More than anything else, he feels guilty for what he did to Magnus-- in fact, the reason he vanished into the warp was to go try to kill Magnus or die trying, as a way of atoning. Now that Magnus is back and badass, will everyone's favourite Space Viking Wolfman be able to face his estranged brother?

Lorgar

Surprisingly ok with things, viewing his earlier failing as a lack of faith on his part. If Magnus is the holy lance in the fight against the Daemonic, Lorgar is his shield bearer, swearing to protect his brothers from the horrors of the Warp. Lorgar gets pimped out by the Ecclesiarchy, with a shrine to the god emperor built into his new holy armor and bolts for his bolter carved from the bones of saints. Depending on how far we go, he may also have had his bones inscribed with hymns to the emperor, like an emperor loving version of wolverine. When he finds out how things went down, he promplty crushes Kor Phaeron's head, with a 'YOU WERE LIKE A FATHER TO ME' speech.

Mortarion

THE EMPEROR'S UNBREAKABLE SCYTHE! Though the skies may rain blood and the mountains crumble to dust, the Death Guard will stand fast, advancing inch by inch, their marching cadence the thud of their artillery. Mortarion vows to exterminate Nurgle's influence with the same tenacity that makes their chaos counterparts so damned hard to beat.

Mortarion would gather his Death Guard and go head-to-head with his double's Legion, enduring the worst that Nurgle's plagues can bring on them, even to the point where many of his Astartes are almost indistinguishable from the enemy they fight, and imprisoning his Daemon Prince self in a stasis-locked casket filled with molten silver, cast into the core of a dark and forgotten planet.

Casualties are horrendous once the plagues have run their course, but, as always, they return to fight on another battlefield. The Emperors unbreakable scythe, the Deathguard.

Angron

Basically the Dornian Heresy version of Angron, so he's a super cool zen-berserker.

Alpharius

Starts unveiling his master plan. All of this is pretty much just as planned.

Pirate-Man

Captain Ramius and Captain Blackbeard, if he were a pirate primarch, who may or may not have a mechadendrite beard. Has this whole herald of judgement aspect about him. Like Blackbeard, he'd put lit candles in his beard to give him an aura of smoke. He'd cover himself in purity seals and have a glow of madness in his eyes. But yeah, his fleet warps in, and judgment has arrived, the towers and spires burning with warpfire. When he teleports in with his boarding party, the air crackles and smells of sulfur. He's got his own version of a Tarantino speech. He lives for the hunt, his ships are his hounds. He's a half crazed devil of a man, who sails the stars with his fleet. He strikes terror into the hearts of the foes who behold him, and when he does land his legion, it is with the trumpets of doomsday. And his men love him. They're his comrades on this grand adventure. They're his partners in all this. He'd keep iron discipline, but he doesn't need to, the crew elect their officers, pirate style. He gets along well with Russ, hard drinking and partying, but he has a frantic core to him that Russ lacks. Perhaps it was because of the time out in the void, or perhaps he has seen some darkness that Russ has not, but there's some irresistable force that drives our Captain onwards.

"Ahoy heretic! Stand to and receive the Emperor's Judgement. No, belay that! Run! Run for all you're worth! Run until your poxy rump is sore, your feet blistered, and your lungs can take it no more. Let the world swim before your exhausted eyes and the angels and daemons well up from your frenzied, tattered mind. Run because the Reaper himself comes for you in his ships. Run because the hounds are baying. Run because I want a good chase."

His fleet is the vanguard, out by the Halo Stars where the warp is tricky, and if he pulls an Apocalypse Now, sets himself up as a God. He sees it as giving his men and the systems he restores out in the unholy light of the Ghoul Stars something to inspire them and keep the terror at bay--seamen are always superstitious and the Halo Stars seem like home to endless eldritch Horrors. He sees a bit of religion/mysticism as a way to keep terror at bay, but, like with Lorgar, the Emperor doesn't like that, not one little bit. So he takes a battlefleet out there, but the pirate's main fleet up and vanishes into the Warp. From time to time ships reappear in realspace, their crews horribly mutated. It often falls to Russ to purge them. Rowbroat Gringus gets what the pirate leaves behind, as he's the closest and the best at restoring atheism.

But they say that on quiet nights, you can still see the ghostly lights of a crusade era battle fleet, a-running through the Chronos expanse. They say the captains half man and half devil and he's chasing sommat, what none know. (A little too Cruze, don't you think?)

(I was hoping that he'd be Kamina where Kruze is Gendo. Gendo sees the world sucks and gives up on everything except his mad plan. Kamina sees the world sucks and makes up a story that makes it awesome anyways. They're both scary mother fuckers, but the Pirate King has a bit more defiance to him. Kruze is the Reaper, where this guy is the leader of the Wild Hunt.)

Taimak, Son of Thunder

The Emperor's diplomat and beastmaster. Currently under development, but the basic gist is that the Big E wasn't always so Xenophobic, was willing to work with Xenos (ie, Craftworlders) as long as they obeyed/cooperated him, which, since he's the only guy who can fight chaos head on, makes some sense. To do this, the big E made Taimak, but when the Primarchlings got swept off, the Son of Thunder ended up being found and raised by Xenos. Oops. This isn't so bad, but the Xenos in question had chaotic leanings, not that the Primarch knew this. The big E finds him and then has to figure out how to go about quietly exterminating everyone he loves. Nice... (which might explain why Emps let Angron's men die--if they were Khorne bait with those nails.)

The other primarchs around at the time are a bit leary of this weird Xenos-raised guy, particularly Mortarion, for whom it hits too close to home, Gorillaman, Dorn, Lorgar, and a few others. Thunder's tendency to do things like use Xenos Auxilia (policy and the legion has gene seed issues), have marines ride dragons, and load shells with acid scorpion spiders also rubs them the wrong way. The Emperor tells them to shove it, and they obey for the time. The Emperor then has Thunder go meet with the craftworlders, but things go poorly. Really poorly. All contact is lost, the last transmissions are of war with Thunder tearing the head off of the Warp Spiders Phoenix Lord. When next it is found, the Craftworld is devoid of life and crawling with sinister warp signatures.

Emps knows this to be the work of Daemons but can't tell anyone. He wants to try again, but he can't tell anyone, so the Primrachs kind of force him to take a more hardline stance against Xenos. He needs them to be onboard with his Nikea decisions anyways. Stable marines were sent to the Ultramarines, who were closest by, while the Auxilia and any who would not stand down were executed by the Space Wolves.

Thunder is a badass technical pacifist who punches Klingons into realizing how awesome the Emperor is when there is no option and an excellent diplomat otherwise.

The Legion is sort of like RT Era Dark Angels, with various sort of xeno auxilia and nightmarish xenos beasts as mounts.

Necrons

Trazyn the Infinite

Turns out he's been trying to rebuild Vulkan. Guess he wanted an autograph? He proves instrumental in bringing Necrons into an alliance with the Imperium. In the words of Anon: I was wondering where will Vulkan go, and as my headcanon is that his body (and thus one of the artifacts) is at Trazyn's place, I imagine Vulkan going to Tomb Word of Solemnace and having this speech (I'll try my best in writing, but I'm no writefag):

>You knew about the gift I had from my father, and thus you knew that despite the fact that my body appeared to be dead, I was not. You thought that due to my state, I am unable to hear you, but I could. Many times you tried to pull that spear from my body, sometimes trying to destroy it along with the spear. When you learned about the legend of my return once my Artefacts will be gathered, you start to gather them and using them to destroy the spear, for the sake of releasing me. For that, you have my thanks, as deep within my heart, I see you as a friend. And I see no better way to thank you than through giving you something I have created right after being released from this state in that Warpstorm. This is something I based on your symbol of rule, let it serve you well in the incoming years of our cooperation, my friend, Trazyn the Infinite.

Rough Timeline of Events

How E-Money and C-Roach pulled this off, one version

The Cabal fucked up. Majorly. Emps-Senpai was supposed to die and with his survival, any semblance of their plan working perished. They could, however, try something else, namely fixing their mistake. It took time. A lot of time, but fortunately they had that. It took centuries to contact the Emperor in the Warp, centuries more before he was willing to hear them out. Many a farseer's head exploded with the Emperor's rage. Finally, the Cabal convinced Alpharius, who also had cut off ties with the Cabal following the Horus debacle to follow a troupe of Harlequins into the webway. Their purpose: to find the segment of the webway that linked up with the Golden Throne, in hopes that Alpharius could speak with the Emperor directly. Sensing his son's purity, the Emperor allowed Alpharius to speak with him and Alpharius explained everything. From that point on, Alpha Legion used the webway to keep the Emperor appraised of their plans. (Perhaps in all of this, Jagatai stumbled upon them whilst hunting Deldar? They captured him and brought him before the Emperor, who explained things. Jagatai slugged Alpharius and Omegon, but forgave them. As the centuries passed, the plan took shape. The only hope against Chaos was the return of the Primarchs. With their faith in the Emperor, they could defeat the worst of Chaos and allow the God Emperor and Cegorrach to ascend as pre-eminent deities. Later, contact with Malal caused them to factor it into their plans. The plan was somewhat simple. The only way to get back the Primarchs was to either reforge them of warp stuff or steal them from parallel universes. The former would make them basically Greater Daemons, a bit too unstable for their purposes. The later would disrupt other timelines if not done carefully. The solution they came to was to pull part of a primarch's essence from a parallel timeline and fill in the rest with warpstuff, courtesy of the Emperor's will. To do this, however, required massive amounts of warp energy and an ability to travel through time. The second task was comparatively simple. The Ordo Chronos was established and set to work designing time machines. Alpha Legion moles fed information to the conspirators and when the time was right, they took the technology and allowed the Ordo to disappear.

The former task was more difficult. The Emperor could draw warp energy from his followers, from the faith of man and from the sacrifice of psykers. This required dire times for man, so that their faith would be called upon again and again. Thus the 10,000 years of suffering were needed for the plan to succeed. But even then, that would not be enough power and the storage and expenditure would draw the eyes of the other Chaos Gods, so means were devised to funnel warp energy from the others. The two main players in this were Cypher and the Alpha Legion. By creating situations to power the big 4, they were able to hide the amounts that they syphoned for the Emperor, mostly via Malal. As time went on, Lady Malys became an agent of Cegorrach and she too plans to syphon energy to the Emperor when the time comes, in return for a place at Cegorrach's side as a demigod.

With the plans laid, all that remained was to collect the fury of the warp and wait for a moment when the Chaos gods would be too focused elsewhere to notice what was afoot. This chance came during the 13th Black Crusade. At the precise moment of the fall of Cadia, the plan went into effect. The Primarchs were copied from favorable parallels, along with their legions and some of their support personnel. (the two missing primarchs were also brought back. See the wiki for our tentative work on them.) Thus it was that the Great Crusade started anew.

Still leaves the question of what Jagatai was doing, but hey, nofags perfect. (Raiding the warp with an army made of 'borrowed' Deldar shit?) OH SHIT THAT'S AWESOME.

Then what?

• They emerge.

• The precise means of confirming their identity is uncertain. Valdor? Vulkan lives? (Russ' validity is confirmed by his old pal Bjorn)

• Some hyper conservative Inquisitors hold Terra hostage with cyclonic torpedoes, threatening to blow it up if they don't get their way. They also somehow manage to get Officio Assasinorum on their side, too. They've quite literally holed up on Terra in the Assassin temples with a cyclonic torpedo on a dead man's switch. Anyone who wants to get to them has to get through the Assassins first, too.

The original Alpha legion, emerges from the warp and kill/destroy all the forces opposing the original legions. Then when message comes that Holy Terra itself is being besieged by ruinous powers or chaos, Loyalists would run to rescue it. The Alpha Legion, intent on keeping cover until the end, passes a slight heads up to the other Primarchs through the Order of the Obsidian Mirror, allowing them to hook up with Pirate-man, Corax, and Kurze for awesome out of the shadows hijinks. Then, after assaulting, the Alpha Legion would go "Oh noes, the loyalists, the primarchs, the real saviors of the empire, we're beat, retreat" over all the vox channels and then retreat into the warp portals.

Funny thing is there would be no Alpha Legionnares casualties, and only traitors and possible traitors would have died in the couple of days long invasion.

So the loyalists would be on Terra, as heroes and without political opposition. And no one would ever ask any questions.

Just as planned.

Hydra Fucking Dominatus.

• Primarchs split up to stabilize things. Around this time Ferrus visits his legion and Fulgrim learns of his deeds.

• ?????

• Primarchs get shit done

• All Glory to the Imperium!

Some ideas that came up during writefagging

NOTE: This is all made up during the second thread, where a few writefags decided to write up on the events and needed a semi-coherent view of them.

It's been discussed that it goes as follows:

1. Russ meets Lorgar reborn and they send word to those Primarchs that were not technically dead - Lion, Guilliman, Vulcan, and together with some other Primarchs they meet up, Horus takes the lead after taking upon himself to gain redemption through victory over heretics

2. Inquisitors take control of Terra, loyalists move in and take control

3. Black Crusade finally arrives at Terra with Primarchs setting up defensive positions

4. Battle ensues

5. Khan moves in with whatever pirate/stolen DE fleet he managed to

6. Dark Eldar move in pursuit, joining the fray

7. Battle is won, Great Crusade 2: Electric Boogaloo commences

8. EDITED: Magnus is working on reviving the ultimate badass only after they've dealt with the Chaos invasion

As has been stated in the foreword, this is all prone to debating and/or fixing, but so far it's been working well and based upon this writefaggotry commenced, resulting in awesome.

Bits of Awesome

Return to Monarchia

It almost seemed like a cruel irony that Lorgar had brought his Legion back to Monarchia. Though the rest of the world had changed, this place had remained the exact same: burnt to the very ground.

"Do you recognize this place?" The Primarch questioned the Remembrancers and Ecclesiarchal guests among his fleet.
"I do." The lead missionary among the Ecclesiarchy responded. "This place...it was birthplace of the Imperial Creed, is it not?"
"Almost." He knelt among the ashes. He couldn't stop hearing of the screams among this plane, no matter how hard he shut himself off. Hundreds of faithful souls, loyal to the Emperor, the God-Emperor, all burned to ash at His order. "He knew of the Lectitio Divinatus before here. It was only here that he had made his point: He was not God."
The Missionary had heard the story before from some less-than-pious Astartes before, but hearing it from a Primarch, the one whose work was responsible for the Ecclesiarchy no less, made him feel ill at ease. "But...why, Lord Primarch? He had done so much that was impossible for a lesser man. So much more than any species had dared hoped!"
Again, he heard the screams.

"Hail to the Emperor, may he protect our souls!"
"Though we may die, may our deaths be remembered always!"
"Our loyalty never wavers!"

He could not take it. This was his pride, his life's work, and it was dashed so easily.
He remembered the story the Sororitas, those women who worked as the Church's soldiers, told them. This was more than his greatest failure. It was the birthplace of an even greater failure.

"Why do you keep torturing yourself with these memories, boy?" Kor Phaeron finally spoke up, disgusted at seeing his son's weakness. "You will learn nothing more from dwelling on the past. He has rejected your teachings. Now we move on to another faith."
Another faith. A fourfold path. An eight-pointed star. A horde of daemons, and a humanity lost. It was because of what happened here that a preacher became the Urizen. Where faith was rejected, he learned cold reason, and that reason was that the only true gods of the universe were...
Come to think of it, Lorgar wondered, why was the First Captain the only one who believed this truth? Why did everyone else seem to believe in a completely different truth, one governed by science and mathematical reason? He then remembered talk from amongst his own sons, doubting the Captain's claims as an Astartes, an elderly man in the shape of a warrior. More pressingly, there were also reports about Calth, a war of petty hatred turned into a dark ritual. And the common link was...

"Have you truly faith in you, Kor Phaeron?"
The elder snorted, "Faith? Of course I have faith! I was the one who taught you faith!"
Lorgar stood erect, his right hand gripping the Illuminarium tightly. "Faith in our cause, or faith in whatever you serve?"
"What does this babbling have to do with-"

He wouldn't finish the sentence, as he was sent flying by the blow. The missionaries and Sororitas who joined them gasped.
"So..." he chuckled. "This is how a father gets rewarded? Pathetic boy..."
"You are wrong." The Primarch started towards the old man. "This is not how a father gets rewarded." Again, he shifted grip on his weapon. "This is how a traitor, a manipulator, a poisoner, get rewarded."
With another swing, Kor Phaeron's head went flying. It landed near the feet of some legionnaires, who merely stepped on it like any other stone. "You never had faith in the Emperor's cause. You only had faith in elevation. That was my weakness." Lorgar turned around, his gaze locking with Erebus this time around. "Hear this well, Chaplain. The reason the Lectitio Divinatus failed was because it enforced worship. We are not worshippers, we are warriors. And we shall dedicate ourselves to fighting for these people, this Imperium, from the hell that exists."
He rose the Illuminarium again.
"Our faith should not be focused upon the divinity of a man, but on the protection of many men! You have seen what hells exist beyond our realm, what things lurk here. These humans, these preachers, we are here because they cannot fight this war!"
The lead missionary asked again, "This is...! THIS IS INCREDIBLE!! I shall spread this to my church!"
Lorgar smiled at that. "Bear this word well, missionary: The Imperium's faith is upon our duty, not upon our icons!"

Burial at Istvaan III

Istvaan III was the sight of innumerable omens, a place where the first rounds of a betrayal would be fired and echo across eternity. Fulgrim had chosen to visit this place alone. He the only being that stood alive on a world of ghosts. His regal purple robe fluttering in the carrion wind.

He had come to atone, not just for the slaughter of his brothers sons, but that of his own as well. Battle plate still lie on the ground where bones had long turned to dust. He looked forward at the planetary governors' office, from what he had heard this is where his remaining loyal sons had died, betrayed by Lucius at the last moment.

He strode inside, looking down at warriors, honorable ones that both he and his daemonic self knew. Saul Tarvitz, Ancient Rylanor, Soloman Demeter. He knelt down to the slaughtered remains of one of his sons that had remained pure and held it to his chest, the vicious angry sob of a demigod cut through the air. What have I done? His mind begged his soul for answers that would actually make sense. He looked across the ground for some form of tool, anything that could move dirt. He made do with a power axe.

Slowly, he carried the corpses of the remaining loyal Astartes to a patch of soft ground, one by one he dug their graves, placing each legionary in the ground with a gentleness that his giant form seemed incapable of, tears streaming silently from his face. He made no noise, the only sound was of dirt being excavated. Each time he finished burying one he made a makeshift monument, a sword, a helmet, an axe. It didn't matter what it was necessarily its value was far more than its parts. Each had the name of the Astartes laid there and a poem or canticle of their bravery. When he was done only one thought remained. 'I will make this right, even if I can't undo it.'

Fulgrim and Manus

Fulgrim wept as he stared up at the writhing, multi-armed foe that slithered towards him. It bore a resemblance in only the smallest of senses; even the eyes seemed foreign as the four armed beast drew forth weapons crackling with violet energy.

"What's the matter?" The creature hissed sibillantly, a too-wide grin stretching its fanged maw. "Doth the mirror show a pale reflection?"

Fulgrim's grip on his blade faltered, and it remained firmly within its sheathe. Fireblade was silent, his strength waning in the face of his hideous alter ego.

This. This was what his perfection had forced him to become. How could it have gone so wrong?

The creature lashed out, its bladed tail whistling mere inches from his face. "So flawed you are," it chuckled, darting forward like a snake. Its swords raised in a quadrad of points, poised to skewer his embellished plate. "So pathetic."

The blades dropped in perfect unison, each seeking a vital point; Fulgrim blinked as all four were smashed aside in a single movement, and the Daemon Primarch was thrown back from the impact.

"Child of the Emperor, Death to his foes."

The gravelly tone rumbled from within a stenatorian chest even as a silver hand fell on the eagle-winged pauldron on Fulgrim's shoulder. Firmly gripped in the Iron Hand's gauntlet was the mighty hammer Forgebreaker, still crackling from the fierce impact.

Ferrus smiled tightly. "We face the past together."

Fulgrim regarded his brother fondly, turning to the writhing horror he had been destined to become. The sloth left his body, and he mirrored the iron knight's gesture firmly.

"The flesh is weak," he intoned as he released the other man's armor, tightening his grip on his sword. With a single, fluid motion, he tore the flaming brand from its sheathe, his purpose renewed. "But our brotherhood is iron!"

Together, the sons of the Emperor met the Daemon's charge with a cry of rage upon their lips.

Son of Jagatai

The Astarte walked, draped in chains, through the webway. They'd lead him and the others out of the slave markets of Commoragh hours ago, leading them down. Down through Low Commorragh, with its fight pits for those too poor to see the Wyches. Down past the haemonculi and their theatres of screams. Down where not even the mandrakes went. Down into the twisting tunnels of the webway.

All of this, Battle Brother Yugong Taibing, 3rd Company, White Scars, watched go by in growing resignation. Nothing good came of these Commoraghites and he was now certain that his fate was something so abhorrent that even these foul creatures did not wish it in their city. His eyes moved slowly across the other prisoners. Xenos, but also a surprising number of humans. He noticed that she was there too. She'd been on the planet. His memory cleared. Was she a sororitas? Yes. He had gone to try to support her squad... when... ah... they'd been captured. He supposed she must be dishonoured, too, but for him it was different. He was an Astartes. The God Emperor had chosen him to serve Him and His Primarch against all that would harm the Imperium. He was made better, to be a shield for the weak and to be a sword against the Xenos. And then they'd come, used some vile compound, and carried him away as easily as if he'd been a child. For a moment, when they'd bought him at the slave market, he'd felt a surge of hope. Perhaps they'd take him to the arena. At least that way, he could die on his feet. But no, whatever awaited him, he was sure it had no honor. But the humans, he realized weren't worried about their honor. No, the humans must be... afraid. But the sororitas and some of the others who noticed him seemed somehow comforted, that even here, an Angel of the Emperor watched over them. That made Yugong feel even worse. Still, he straightened and fixed his gaze ahead. And hid his despair when he saw what was ahead. The vaults of the webway narrowed and blocking the path were some strange witch-eldar. He could hear strange instruments droning and smelled the scents of incense and musk. They never quite stopped moving and wore outfits of iridescent material woven in dizzying patterns. All wore masks which seemed to change as their aspect did. Yugong uneasily noted that the guards who had taken them from Commoragh seemed uncomfortable around these witch-eldar. Something nagged at the back of his memory. Something about these Dark Eldar and Slaneesh... didn't they worship him? Were these the priests? Were he and the rest to be sacrificed to Slaneesh? If it hadn't been for the others, he'd have vented his fury in a roar, but he didn't want them to worry. His fears seemed confirmed when the dancers nodded to the Commoraghites, who left as quickly as they could, leaving these masked ones to lead them on. From there everything passed in a blur. The webway grew narrow and twisted. There were strange rooms with unreadable texts scrawled across them in some frenetic calligraphy. Others had murals depicting mighty witches and what could only be Slaneesh casting down their foes. He pretended he didn't notice. It appeared so suddenly that he at first thought it a waking dream. It was a massive castle in the webway. Towers thousands of feet high with windows that blazed with witchfire. Strange pale beings, dozens of feet tall stood guard. Their eyeless faces still carried the weight of a ceaseless gaze. Behind them were soaring doors covered with eyes. They were led inside.

The inner hall was equally immense, hundreds of statues watched them from niches. They led him away first, he tried turning, to tell them he'd be back, but the collar prevented it. The best he could manage was to walk with dignity to what he was sure was the priest's knife. He'd rip as many of them in half as he could first. He prepared his death song, gained as much slack in the chains as he could. He figured he could break them if he could pound them on an edge. He was led into a massive feasting hall. It didn't seem quite right. There were rows of cloaked figures, too large to be Eldar, though there were plenty of them, as well. The decor, too, seemed off. It was somehow familiar. And in the center of the room, before a blazing fire, was truly enormous figure in a cloak. It seemed most familiar of all. He was sure it was warp-magic, but he found his head filled with memories that he had though he no longer had, of his childhood on Mundus Planus. This figure reminded him of his father. He tensed as the figure turned. The face. It was smiling. "Don't you recognize me, my son?" it laughed. "Don't you know that you are welcome in my halls? Remove your chains and join your brothers!" There was raucous laughter as the sons of Jagatai threw off their hoods and welcomed their new found brother into their midst.

It was weeks later, Yugong stood at the prow of a Raider, his armour painted a sable and was adorned in the savage elegance of the Dark Eldar. He looked behind him, smiled as he saw that Sororitas, clad in borrowed Dark Eldar armor. On other raiders, his battle brothers looked towards the battle. Today they were to eliminate an Inquisitor who had fallen to chaos, taking his retinue and private domain with him. Yugong would still have to get used to the idea of calling these Eldar fellow warriors, but he'd get there. He trusted Jagatai and he trusted his mission. How had Jagatai phrased it? Ah yes, the free hand of the Emperor, to strike from darkness and defend the Imperium while it slept.

The Deathwatch meets the Son of Thunder

The situation was a life-threatening debacle, but after serving in the Deathwatch for a few decades, it becomes more routine.

Tyranids were infesting the capital world of the Andamiss system and the rest of the Hive Fleet was threatening to devour the rest unless something could be done now.
It was a good move, then, that they assigned Watch Captain Tassalar of the Novamarines, a warrior who had fought off Hive Fleet Leviathan alongside his parent chapter, the task of delaying them by any means.

Alongside him on this dangerous mission was his Kill-Team, Oratos, consisting of:

• Sanguinary Priest Nielen of the Blood Angels, who had, with the help of a score of other Apothecaries of a dozen other chapters, devised a poison to take down the Hive Fleet
• Armel of the Disciples of Caliban's Ravenwing, who was originally ordered by his Chapter to keep watch for something, but had since kept him there until further notice.
• Taikei, Techmarine of the White Scars, who had made surprisingly good friends with Armel after an emergency bike-repair.
• Valk, a Rune Priest and pugilist all the same, who wanted only to fight worthy foes.
• Carth, self-proclaimed weapons-master of the Crimson Fists, adept at any gun he could lift.

The Thunderhawk dropped the team off in the air, forcing the squad to make a crash-landing. It was Taikei and Armel, riding an Attack Bike with a Plasma Gun, who made first contact on a Warrior, flattening it and killing the nearby swarm. Next was Captain Tassalar on his jump pack, swinging his Power Sword and clearing a swath of the xenos.
"Alright team!" the Captain barked, "We need to make it to that tower there!" He pointed to the Capillary Tower in the distance. "Taikei, Armel, take point! I want reports on any key Synapse Creatures! The bigger, the better! Valk! Keep your powers on supporting us! Carth, Keep your bolter level!"
"Aye aye!" Carth chortled as he opened a hail of death with his Heavy Bolter.

The White Scar and Ravenwing Veteran began their wild ride on top of the corpses of dead gaunts, opening fire on anything that they could find. One Tervigon was taken down by a surprise assault by the two, and soon they had a good vantage point. But even that did not prepare them for what they would see.

"Techmarine, do you see...someone riding a Carnifex?" Armel could not believe it. Taikei was speechless.
"Captain, we have a point secured and...there's someone on top of a Carnifex."
The Captain voxed back, "What? That would be-"
"I am seeing him right now," Taikei opened up, "And he is riding that Carnifex like a common Grox. And I know. People on Chogoris have done this since the times of the Khan."
Captain Tassalar was incredulous. "I... Agh, I do not believe this. Nielen, go investigate!"

"You see it too, right?" Now the two bikers and the Sanguinary Priest were witness to the Carnifex-rider now riding the bucking monstrosity charging like a bull through the swarm, slamming full force into one of the Tyrannofexes.
"Well I'll be." The Sanguinary Priest opened his vox, "They are not seeing things. Unless I am seeing things too, there is a man on top of that Carnifex, and he is riding it towards a Tyrannofex."
Another exasperated sigh. "Alright, now I am convinced. We are en route."

By the time the Novamarine, the Crimson Fist and the Wolf made it, the Carnifex was docile again as the gaunts finished feeding on the dead Tyrannofex. "What in the twelve clans of Fenris is this madness?"
Tassalar looked at the bikers. "I have been proven wrong. This does not happen often."
"What should we do, Captain?" Carth asked.
"Our orders still stand," the Disciple of Caliban insisted. "We deliver the toxins."v "I agree," the Captain advised. "I am leaving it to you two. Nielen?"
"Right" The two got the vials and began speeding off.

So the bike began speeding off, firing upon any and every thing that dared cross their path with either bolts of fury or plasma doom. Warriors, Gaunts, Biovores, even a Genestealer Broodlord, all of them were gunned. As they reached the Reclamation pools, they found themselves under fire from the Hive Guards, who fired their Impaler Cannons upon the bike and one hit even punctured Taikei in the shoulder. Fortunately, though, they were able to fell one of the fiends and make it to the reclamation pools to deliver the poisons.

However, they were down to their last vial when they found themselves beset by the last thing any of them wanted to see: A Flying Hive Tyrant. It swooped to and fro, heckling the bikers on their delivery mission, occasionally opening fire with the twin-linked devourers.
"Damn, I cannot even get a bead on the blight!"
"And his air raids are making it impossible for me to operate!" A swerve managed to get the Tyrant to miss, but it also led them straight to a Venomthrope's suffocating toxic miasma. Armel gunned it again and boosted his way out of the way and found themselves colliding with another Carnifex. Armel tried to start the bike again, but the damage was too severe.
"Of all the times to break down...!" Taikei grabbed his power axe. "We will not abandon this to them."
Armel shared the sentiment and grabbed a flamer. "Not without a fight." He ignited the horde, giving cover to the Techmarine as he repaired the bike to the best of his abilities, but the beasts were growing bold. It was only a matter of time before the flamer became next-to-useless on them.
However, just before the horde swelled once more, it backed away. Fearing the Tyrant's arrival, the two spun about face to find instead the mounted Carnifex. "Ohhhh, what now?" Armel edged to Takiei.
"Allow me." Taikei raised his power axe to rider. "Hail, noble rider! Your mounting skills impress me!"

Silence.

"I will hold you responsible if he sics that on me."

The two were tense again when the rider spoke.
"I know why you are here. You seek to destroy this hungering mass." A rapping of knuckles lowered the beast's head. "It seems to be a trend that has not stopped since ages past."
"And for a reason." Armel lowered his flamer. "These things would devour the system if they were not opposed."
The rider took a step forward. It became increasingly more obvious that this man was more than some Astartes. Not even an Ogryn could grow this tall.
"So you seek oblivion instead?" The titan finally met ground. The two were now alarmed at how lightly armored he was. He bared his chest and his head to the monsters and wore only a simple robe. Marks of multiple hues and multiple patterns raced across his skin, looking like they were made in any sort of media, be they splotches or intricate webbing. "You believe that you have any more right to this world than they do?"
"This world does belong to the Imperium." Taikei leveled his axe at the titan.
"It will not stay so. All things change, no possession eternal." He then drew from behind him an axe that looked more like a mere stick with a Hive Tyrant's Scything Talons ripped off and tied to it. "This once belonged to a king of this species. I saved his life once when he broke his leg. His kin then showed me gratitude. They are more than things to kill."
Armel raised his flamer. "That...sounds like Heresy to me."
The titan scoffed. "It only makes sense you were raised by him as a role model." He took a step forward. "All he saw in the life beyond Terra was filth to be cleansed. What he could not exploit to his ends, he would turn to a flaming ruin for the mere sin of defiance."
"The Emperor is all."
"No. He is not." He began walking past them. "And no matter how many times I must repeat that, I will find none of you who will listen."

The two were content with just letting the stranger leave as they finished repairing the bike when the Captain opened vox. "Bring. Him. In."
It seemed that there was something far more than heresy that he was guilty of. Ironically enough, the Ravenwing rider, whose job was to explicitly find heretics and traitors to his chapter, could not figure out why.

"Get in!" Taikei cued him to switch spots, now operating as the driver. The two sped up in an instant to catch the giant again.
"What would you know about coexisting with xenos?" Taikei tried to catch his attention.
"More than any of your ilk would ever bother trying."
Armel cut in. "And who are you to claim that?"
The giant stopped. "So he's gone that far, huh? My very existence erased from history because I do not conform to his perfect plan?"

The Sanguinary Priest then landed beside them from jump-pack.
"What was it that- Oh... No, that would mean..."
"What?" The bikers turned to the new arrival.
"He looks... No, he is the size of a Primarch, but..." He was lost in thought.
"A Primarch? Are you insane?"
The giant silenced them all, "Primarch I once was called. Not anymore. That title belongs to murderers."

Everyone dropped their arms in dumbstruck awe.
"Tha-wha-this..." Armel was first to recover "No. No! That is a horrible joke. Now the truth!"
He walked again. This time Nielen began tailing the giant.
"Forgive my brother, he is a very upfront-"
"I have told the truth, and he did not listen."
"The truth?" Nielen asked. "No, there is more to this. Something that nobody is mentioning..."
Armel spat out, "He's a heretic! He consorts with xenos!"
"A Primarch? Consorting with Xenos? Why?"
"They have the same inheritance of this universe that we do. They belong here just as much as you do, and if he still fails to understand that, then leave me." The Priest began piecing something together.
"He? Who is He?"

The painted face of the giant grew a smile. "You seem to be the smart one among your kin. Figure it out."

Nielen kept his pace while thinking before halted in abject horror.
"That....By the Emeperor, that.... No... You really are a Primarch. You mean the Emperor?" He stopped. "The Emperor banned Xenos interactions and in doing that, or perhaps before that, he had to remove your legion."
He turned around. It seemed that the Sanguinary Priest was right after all. "That legion was hardly mine. My people, they traverse the stars without need to murder everything for the sin of being different."
The Priest argued, "But the reason we are fighting the xenos is because they would destroy us otherwise. These things, they do not know anything other than ravenous hunger. How are we to stop that? Should we seek to instead befriend every race, even if they do try to destroy us?"
"I am not idealistic enough to believe that. But what I do believe is that there is a way to coexist without war."

Before he could even respond to that, though, Nielen's vox opened. "Nielen!" The Captain called. "An Inquisitorial shuttle will be here soon. Keep him there at all costs!"
"It will be done." He turned around to the giant.
"So, they seek to make me account for my sins?"
The Priest would have said yes. That was the obvious response after all. But after hearing this story, one that supposedly lasted far before Heresy was even a word, he hesitated. "I...I hesitate to that. I have no clue who you would be accountable to, short of Him on Terra, but even then, how am I to call that?"
The giant placed his hand on the Astartes' shoulder. "Do not think of what he or his fiefdom demand. What is your belief?"
"I..." He thought this over. "I do not believe I have the faculties to judge you for Heresy. Let someone else solve that."
The giant looked at his Tyranid mount. "I suppose this is the end, then."
Valk had arrived just as he began to speak in some bizarre language of growls and hums, mixed with words that had to be from some language.
"Wait..." he was perturbed, "Is he...talking to that thing? AND IT'S LISTENING?!"
"Wait, that was a language?"
The Carnifex left as the giant began walking with then. "Now I go along with your laws."
Nielen was surprised. "What? Why?"
"Because if someone like you exists, someone who knows more than just murdering in the name of a god that is not, then there is hope yet."
"God that is not?" Valk caught on to the insult. "You dare-" Nielen cut him off with a swift hand.
"Don't. This is the closest we have gotten to getting him to cooperate. I can only hope the Captain can do the same."

The Kill-Team reunited at the top of the hill, Tassalar and Carth reloading their rounds in the midst while Taikei and Armel rode in on their now-repaired attack bike.
"By the Golden Throne..." Uttered the Captain. "What is he?"
The giant intoned, "Someone whom history now sees fit to remember."
"What does that even mean?"
Nielen whispered over the vox, "There is too much here even I cannot make sure of."
The Captain followed along. "Did Valk scan him?"
"He is just as surprised as the rest of us are."
Valk jumped in on the vox, "He is more than a man. Far more than any I have met. For one thing, when he was talking to that Carnifex, I could sense something melding their spirits together. He has to be some sort of psyker, but not strong enough to get noticed by any means."
"A Psyker? Amongst Tyranids?"
"I can't make heads or tails of this either, Captain."
Before an argument could arise over the giant's possible status as a psyker, the Inquisitorial shuttle arrived and the Kill-Team, plus one, filed in.

"So," a voice welcomed them in. "You must be the team that was stationed on Andamiss Primaris?"
"Watch Captain Eiric Tassalar of the Novamarines," the Captaine bowed. "My kill-team is ready to do your bidding."
"And this one?"
"We..." he tried to remain formal while voicing his uncertainty. "We have no clue what he is. We wish to leave that judgment up to you, lord Inquisitor."
A man stepped in, wearing a black robe and several ornate medals among which was his Rosette. "What he is..." He began, "is the key I needed."
"What?"
"That man," He pointed to the giant. "He can talk to them. He can pacify the Tyranids! How does that even happen in this universe?"
"Wait..." the Captain noticed something suspicious. "Who are you?"
"Inquisitor Carrol Accipitus, Ordo Xenos. Your Lord Inquisitor had sent me to retrieve you."
The Captain rose and pointed his Plasma Pistol at the man. "Lord Inquisitor Demator may be an Almathian, but there is no way he is a Xenos Heretic."
"Because he isn't." The Inquisitor raised his hand, revealing a rosarius on his person. "Now, may I continue?"
The giant stepped in. "What is your plan then?"
Accipitus continued, "You must tell me how you managed to pacify those Tyranids. How did you make yourself invisible to the Hive Mind?"
"Invisible, I am not." He sat cross-legged on the floor. "But what I am is a friendly hand to those that need it, no matter their species or creed."
"Altruism? You're telling me that your power is altruism? That's absurd! Insane!"
"More than that." Everyone seemed to hinge upon the giant's words. "I am the link of nature between all forms of nature. Where your ilk seek to kill everything for obstructing a fabricated manifest destiny, I seek to build a bond between what exists."
"We believe he is a psyker," Tassalar gritted his teeth. "Not that this would make sense with the Shadow in the Warp cast over this world."
"A telepath?" Accipitus surmised.
"More. I am a kinsmen"
"Kinsman?" Valk cocked an eyebrow. "The feth does that mean?"
The giant told the radical Inquisitor, "Go to the world Ka'Savva. There is someone there that will explain this."
"Ka'Savva?" Inquisitor Accipitus balked, "But that's Tau territory! There is not a chance that I-"
"They will listen to me."

The shuttle eventually it made it's destination on the Inquisitor's personal cruiser. Once there, the ship began a Warp Jump to the planet mentioned.

As the ship was about to enter the system Ka'Savva was in, they heard a transmission.
"ATTENTION GUE'LA VESSEL. YOU ARE INTRUDING UPON THE TAU EMPIRE'S TERRITORY. TURN BACK NOW OR FACE RETRIBUTION."
The Inquisitor was about to make some response when the Giant stepped in. "I wish to speak with Shas'El Kel'Mio. I wish to make a point to these Imperials."
The line was quiet for a while when another voice came on. "The Thunder-Bearer? You live still?"
"It is good to see you too."
"Very well," the line went. "I will be on the shuttle to meet you. You may bring only two guests with you." It ended.
"Well, I can't believe it," Accipitus paled. "He has Tau friends."
Captain Tassalar, still trying to piece together what had happened, stepped forward. "I will not let you leave so easily."
The giant turned to face him, the Captain suddenly realizing the shadow cast over him. "I am not afraid of others because they are not human. That would be you."

The three went to the landing bay when the Tau shuttle landed. Emerging from there was a retinue of Fire Warriors and a much older Tau, wearing what looked to be some Imperial armour mixed among native Tau armour. The giant met the Tau and the two grasped hands.
"I am glad to see you still alive, Chief."
"I share the sentiment, Wind-Stalker."
The Captain and the Inquisitor were both alarmed by the familiarity, which neither of them had seen before in their lives.
"So how does this..." The Captain tried to motion, "relate to being able to control Tyranids?"
"That is a tale," The Tau answered, "that I still have a hard time believing."
The Inquisitor was still rather incredulous at such a sight. "So what, is he responsible for bringing the Kroot to your side?"
"I have met with Kroot," The giant mentioned, "But I am not responsible for their alliance."

The truth was, as the Alien Hunters began to learn, was that the giant was actually a vital part of how the Tau were able to expand post-Damocles Crusade, a note that made Captain Tassalar rather relieved that he kept Taikei, a veteran from the Damocles Gulf, out of sight. The Tau leader was leading a force of warriors on a planet when they found a very unruly species. However, as they were about to wage war, the giant had arrived and, in a shocking move, forge a treaty between the two races as the intermediary. The Ethereal Caste had caught wind of this and, hoping that this would eventually lead to a Tau-Imperial Alliance of some sort, began singling out open-minded Tau of every Caste into small sectors like Ka'Savva, where they would learn the diplomatic techniques their giant friend employed. While they had been able to only discover only part of his skills, there was more to his power that the Tau could not figure out thanks to their naturally weak link to the Warp. With only a tenuous hypothesis that his powers were possibly psychic, the giant decided to figure this out by the most dangerous means possible: Entering a Tyranid warzone. Him returning meant that somehow the power he held was not entirely psychic. Accipitus had to take a seat just to comprehend this, while the Captain, knowing no fear, could only stand rigid, but equally dumbstruck.

"So," the Tau asked, "How does that theory hold?"
"According to the black armored ones, there seems to be a possibility that it is indeed true."
"But..Psykers..." the Inquisitor tried to reason, "Shadow in the Warp...!"
"What is that, exactly...?" The two foreigners asked.
Before the Inquisitor could blow a fuse over the matter, the Captain stepped in, "The Tyranid Hive has this...trait that makes them not only resistant to any psychic abilities applied to it, but also grants this ability to snuff out the warp energies where they sense it. By what you are mentioning, that seems not to be the case...entirely."
The giant thought this over. "Perhaps. The results I garnered were not entirely what I expected would happen. I learned little else about them besides their hunger, and I do remember a sort of a headache upon meeting their king. Whenever he or the large-skulled ones left, it usually went away." He then added in, "Usually, I have been able to at least be seen as a kinsman to them, but if that is the case, then that would explain why they did so little with me."

The Inquisitor then asked a very obvious question, "And...all this time, you've never bothered to ask an Eldar?"
"Eldar are..." Shas'El Kel'Mio tried to answer, "very difficult to work with. We have tried before to communicate with a Craftworld long ago, but it failed. According to the Thunder-Bearer's story, that does not seem to be a rare occurrence."
"The last Eldar I had met to follow this lead were ones hailing from a 'Dark City'." The giant raised a rather large sword, but both of the Imperials noticed: It was a Klaive, trademark weapon of the Incubui of Commorragh. "They too sought only to kill, and for that they paid a grave price."
"So...what now?" the Captain had no clue. "We know you can pacify all sorts of xenos with some psychic power. So what do we do with that?"
Before the Shas'El could answer, though, the ship rocked. "CAPTAIN!" Taikei shouted over the vox. "We are being ambushed by Eldar Corsairs! Five, no six vessels! We need air support!"
"Scramble-" The Tau marched back to their ship and began takeoff. In the meantime, the Imperials and the giant ran back to the main bridge to asses their options. Another rocking, and the Inquisitor was nearly flung to the wall before the giant grabbed his hand and threw him in.
"Commander?"
"Scramble what support we have. The Tau are willing to truce with us for the time being." The Captain finished. "Keep an eye on them, but do not fire unless provoked."
"Understood," The Techmarine's contempt was barely disguised.

The battle was under way after the Tau returned with proper gunships. Their firepower proved to be a handy boon to the lone cruiser and what few fighters were docked, but the Eldar crafts were too agile to get a tack.

The battle turned for the worse when the Corsairs disabled the Tau craft. Without any reliable form of defense, it left the Imperials perfectly vulnerable to assault by the Corsairs.

When they began the boarding actions, the giant stepped forward to meet the Eldar. After a few tense moments of waiting, the Eldar finally broke through and were halted by the behemoth.

Their leader choked out, "W-what sort of..."
"I am going to ask that you leave." He demanded. "Now"
"Who are you to-" The giant grabbed his face. "What the..."
The two were still, and their forces kept all arms level.
"Now you will listen to me. Leave. We will not bother you."
"I..." The Corsair was helpless. "I am going to die..."
"No." He slowly removed his hand. "I only wish to depart with my allies in peace."
"But...why with Mon'keigh?"
"Because..." He looked to the Deathwatch Kill-Team. They were armed, but the Captain and Sanguinary Priest caught on soon enough to lower their weapons. "Like it or not, they are my kinsmen as well."
The Corsairs wordlessly departed to their ship, much to the awe of everyone present.

As they began repairs on the cruiser, they found a transmission for the giant: "I have heard of you before, Son of Thunder, but I did not believe that you were here of all places. Know that we of the Calbiath clan give you our respect. Perhaps you might be what our kind needed long ago."

Inquisitor Accipitus asked as he collapsed on his seat, "What do we even call you? What you have done here today... It just might be the breakthrough we need in our struggles against so many of our enemies. So many of them that could possibly be reasoned with because of your power!"
The giant looked out into the expanse.
"Taimak. And if you wish for my help, then I wish to meet with him."
Nielen asked, "To...to Terra?"

Corax and Shrike

>Deliverance, The RavenSpire

Corax stood behind his desk, gazing out the transparent bulkhead that served as a window. The Forge world of Kiavahr filled the space before him. Deliverance was on the night-side of the planet, and Corax could see the spiderwebbed traceries of the forges and habs spread out across the surface. He tried to match the layouts he saw with his memories of how the planet had looked in his time. His attention wandered for a moment, and his eyes focussed on the surface of the window... and the Space Marine reflected in it. Corax rotated on the balls of his feet, turning the face the silent astartes. The Marine's armour was pitted with bullet-holes and marks that seemed to have come from axes, but Corax could make out the insignia of a Captain. The Marine noticed Corax' eyes searching his plate, and spoke:
"The biggest Waaagh the Segmentum has ever seen is heading towards Deliverance. The entire chapter is engaged in operations to slow or divert it, but I had to come and see you myself."
Corax seethed at the thought that Orks could now threaten the worlds of his, or any, Legion, but his attention was drawn back to the present as the Captain removed his helmet. Pushing dark hair out of his eyes, the space marine saluted, and spoke again,
"Kayvaan Shrike. When Orks have nightmares, mine is the face they see."

Corax strode down the narrow corridors of the Ravenspire, his long stride threatening to overtake Shrike. As they walked, Shrike was prising off pieces of his armour, which he would hand to various serfs that they met on their way. "Where are we going?"
Corax' voice was soft, the marine seemed highly strung, as though he would lash out at the slightest provocation. "Refectory; I'm starving. Not eaten anything more nutritious than rations for months."
The marine halted suddenly, nearly causing Corax to walk into him. In front of them was a serf, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle in his hand and nervously fiddling with the hem of his robe.
"Vincente, wasn't it?"
The serf nodded jerkily, and held the bundle out to Shrike.
"Yes milord. My wife made these for you after our daughter recovered."
Shrike took the bundle and delicately unwrapped it. There were three small bread rolls in the center of the cloth. The scent of fresh bread tripped a switch in Corax' brain and his mouth watered, reminding him that he himself had not eaten for days.
"Give your wife my thanks," said Shrike "this is just what I needed."
Beaming, the serf nodded and strode away. Shrike waited until he was out of sight, and then stuffed one of the rolls, whole, into his mouth.
"Mhff"
The marine's eyelids fluttered with delight as he chewed and the two resumed walking.

Corax waited until the marine had swallowed before raising a questioning brow.
"His daughter had just given birth when I arrived here." The marine explained, struggling with one of his gauntlets, which appeared to have seized up, "They couldn't stop the bleeding, and the surgeon was on the other side of the spire. I lent a hand." Shrike held up his freed hand, dried blood was caked under his fingernails.
"Some basic sutures were all it needed, I've sewn my own face up so many times, I could do it in freefall."
Corax' mind withdrew as he pondered this. It was refreshing to see that not everything had changed since his time. His Raven Guard were still the same. Shrike tapped him on the arm, bringing Corax' full attention back to him.
"Hold this"
The marine held out the, to Corax, tiny bundle of bread, as he attempted to reach the seal for his gorget. Taking the bundle, Corax watched as the Captain detached first the power plant of his armour, and then unfastened the seals of his chestplate. Corax wrinkled his nose with distaste at the wash of foul-smelling air that rushed out of the marine's opened armour. As the marine stretched, groaning as the vertebrae on his back clunked, Corax found his voice: "Why are you here?"
The marine squinted at him for a second and then spoke
"Why am I here? I am here because, just as Abbadon's headbutted his way through the Cadian gate, Octarius has turned into Fabius Bile's wet dream and the Orks are battering down our doors, our prayers seemed to have been answered, with interest, and the Primarchs have returned out of legend. I am here to see if you are actually here, and the whole situation isn't because an Ork's finally got lucky and planted his axe in my head and you're not my oxygen-starved brain misfiring."

Corax was amused
"Do I pass muster, then?"
Shrike seemed to deflate, as though his rant had taken all the air out of him.
"Yeah. You seem real enough."
Corax attempted to change the subject:
"Will we be returning to the front?"
"I will be, you are staying here. We need to seek help from the other Chapters, and you're our best asset on that front"
Corax bristled:
"Who are you to order me?" He glanced at the marine's rank insignia
"3rd Company Captain? Where is the Chapter Master, or the 1st captain?"
Shrike glowered up at Corax
"No-one's seen flesh nor feather of the Chapter Master since before I was born, and the 1st captain got stepped on by a gargant, he's dead."
Before Corax could reply, Shrike went on,
"2nd Captain, Solari, has been MIA for nearly 2 months, so the Orks are probably drinking out of his skull by now."
Corax stared, this was bad "I am now the highest ranking member of the Raven Guard left, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."
Shrike fell silent, Corax drew himself up to his full height and spoke with an authority that came easily:
"It sounds as though we have our work cut for us then."
Shrike looked up warily as Corax continued "Meet me in the armour bay in 30 minutes, I need to see if any of my equipment is still around."

As he left the refectory with a bellyful of grox and water that didn't taste of cordite, Shrike mentally tried to inventory whatever scraps of the primarch's equipment remained to the Raven Guard. His conclusion was depressing: the majority of Corax' armour had been on the captain of the 1st company, and, judging by what Shrike had seen the Apothecaries scrape out of the crater, wouldn't armour a rat. The best (in Shrike's opinion) pieces were the talons and flight pack, which were his.
"At least" Shrike thought, quickening his stride: "it had been, when I gave it to the serfs to take to the armour bay."
He entered the armour bay nearly at a run, images of the primarch clutching mangled serfs flashing through his mind. The truth was somewhat more low-key, Corax was adding the finishing touches to a heavy bolter, which appeared to have had a stock and grip fitted. Shrike arched a brow at the sight of the massive weapon as Corax looked up at the captain.
"Compensating much?"
Corax gave a thin glare, before rising from the crouch he had been in, and speaking:
"The servitors tell me much of my equipment has been spread about the command."
Shrike nodded:
"That is correct, what's your poi-"
"Except for my talons and flight pack, which are in the possession of one Kayvaan Shrike." Interrupted Corax, glancing pointedly at Shrike's repaired and repainted armour, which hung on a wall rack, flight pack and talons nearby.
"Wha-What do you need those for, you've got that Big Fucking Gun!" Complained Shrike, struggling to keep the whine out of his voice. He rallied and continued: "Besides, it's all been resized to fit me now, by the time you get it fitted, the Orks'd be breaking down the door."
"Very well," replied Corax, haughtily, "is there anything that would fit me?" Shrike cast his eyes about the room, finally settling on an empty dreadnought shell. He pointed:
"That might, if you put a head-hole in it."
If looks could kill, the Captain would be a smear.

"I should have you shot."
"Good luck getting anyone to do that", remarked Shrike, checking his plasma pistol was secured properly.
"Half the men on this ship have never heard of you, they all know who I am."
Satisfied with his equipment: Shrike stood up and raised his voice;
"Right, you all know the plan, but incase any of you blockheads weren't listening, one more time:" He nodded at the techmarine standing by the projector in the center of the cramped drop-pod bay, who switched in on:
"The High-Value Target , an Ork warlord, who calls himself "Bird-Breaka", is holed up in this factory. We're going in through the ceiling, hence the drop-pods. We kill the warlord, we kill his guards, we kill his pet squigs, I don't care preferably in a messy fashion as possible, then the battle-barge will teleport us back aboard. This is a terror mission here, if we can demoralise the Orks, and take out the local leadership in one go, the Orks on this planet will be vulnerable to a flank attack. Any questions?"
"Yes": Corax, of course.
"Why is the projector so blurry?"
Shrike looked at him, then at the elite veterans surrounding him, as though to say "Can you believe this?!"

Corax ducked his head under the upper lip of the drop-pod and squeezed himself into the interior. His primarch size meant that he had a dreadnought pod all to himself, while Shrike and his veterans crammed themselves into two regular sized pods. Hanging his custom heavy bolter on the pod's weapon rack, Corax set about working himself into the rig that would usually hold a dreadnought in place. As he tightened the straps around his shoulders, he rubbed at his neck with his free hand. The rough edges of the head-hole in what could loosely be called his armour were chafing his throat. Dismissing the discomfort, Corax jabbed the button that would tell the drop-pod cogitator he was secure. He shifted carefully, breathing deeply through his nose, tasting the cool iron-smelling air. He was ready.
"Optimal position for drop achieved." said Shrike, over the drop-pod intercom:
"Beginning Countdown. Five... Four... Three... Two... One."
Corax closed his eyes.
"Fire"

BANG

The three drop pods jinked wildly left and right, spraying chaff and decoys in every direction, weaving through long ribbons of Ork ground fire as they plummeted groundwards. Corax' back teeth ground together as he listened to the airframe creaking and groaning around him. He hated this feeling of powerlessness, he was used to being able to control his flight, this was too much like falling out of control for his liking. Suddenly a deafening roar drowned out the sounds of the Ork gunfire, and all the blood in Corax' body began a concerted effort to climb out of the top of his head. Just as Corax thought he could take no more, the roar cut out with a thunderous BANG that almost smashed Corax into the ceiling. The doors of the drop-pod flew open and Corax lurched out, barely remembering to snatch his heavy bolter from its rack as he staggered out into the open air. The drop pods had landed directly on target, smashing through the roof of the factory and taking the Orks completely by surprise. One of the Orks in question was standing not 20 feet away from Corax, squinting at him through the thick dust that filled the room. The Ork's eyes widened as Corax' gun snapped up and attempted to yell a warning, before the heavy bolter spoke, drowning out the Ork's scream. Corax lowered the weapon and looked about, he appeared to have landed inside a room that looked out onto a raised gantry, which overlooked the central factory space. That was where the warlord had set up his throne, amidst a maze of mangled machinery. Shrike's veterans were engaged in a frantic gunfight with the Ork's armoured bodyguards, but the awkward angles and large metal objects scattered about were providing the Orks with a good defencive position.
Just as Corax began scanning the gantries for a good vantage point, he was alerted to something landing behind him. Corax wheeled about, but untensed as he realised it was Shrike. However, Shrike looked... wrong somehow.
Kayvaan seemed to have grown taller, nearly as tall as Corax, the long wings of Corax' flight pack had draped themselves over him like a cloak, and the talons he wore had lost their lustre and seemed hooked, like a real bird's claws. The eyes were the worst part though, blazing red slits that glared out at Corax through the curtain of metal feathers. Corax heard the tramp of hobnailed boots on the gantry and turned to see three Orks charging towards him. The Orks slowed, jaws opening wide in horror. They weren't looking at Corax.
"ITS DA BEAKIE!"
"OH ZOG ME, RUN!"
Dropping their crude weapons, the Orks sprinted away from the monster standing behind Corax. Shrike surged past Corax, leaving a strange smell of rust and dried blood on the back of Corax' throat. He leapt into the air, at the peak of his jump, letting out an ear-rending distorted screech, which was answered by wails and sobs from the Orks, who were now pushing each other aside to get away. Shrike fell on them like the angel of death, ropes of thick Orkish blood flew through the air as his talons tore apart their green flesh. Corax noticed an Ork choose to pitch himself over the gantry railing, rather than face the living nightmare that Shrike had become. An Ork found Shrike's talon closing about his head, and didn't have time to scream before his head burst like a dropped watermelon, smearing Shrike's bone-white helmet with gore.

The Orks who were not in, being subjected to evisceration were now in a state of full retreat. Shrike's sternguard veterans, now given the opportunity to properly use their weapons, cut the fleeing Orks down with a hurricane of customised bolt shells. Corax saw one Ork collapse in on himself, and then vanish in a single point of warped light as a space marine found his mark. The survivors were fleeing into what had been the loading bay, ducking fire from the space marines as they stampeded into the darkened room.

Shrike, seeing that his prey was escaping, gave a barely human snarl and leapt over the railing, closely followed by Corax. Corax landed awkwardly, hampered by his heavy armour, while Shrike rushed along the ancient production line like a wraith out of legend. All the surviving Orks had vanished into the gloom of the loading bay, and Shrike glared into it. He glanced about and saw Corax. He pointed to an enormous rusted rubbish skip:
"S̴̹͊e̸̹͌t̷͕͑ ̵̙̑û̵ͅp̴͚̾ ̴̟̇o̶͈͘v̶̟̍ē̶̪r̵͉͆ ̸͇̋t̷͉͊h̴͈̀e̸͍̍ṛ̷͐ë̵̲,̷̛̮ ̷̝͒g̷̮̐i̷̺͒v̴͚͗ë̸̯́ ̴̦̑ḿ̵ͅę̴͘ ̶̳̋c̷̢̽o̸͖̍v̴̠̉e̸͉̐r̵̬̈ ̷̭̇f̶̦̏í̷̙r̸̮͐e̶͉̒" The marine's words were barely understandable, his voice had turned into a screechy, barking sound that seemed to be coming from the bottom of a deep well. Corax nodded and took cover next to the skip, seeing the sternguard veterans taking similar positions. Shrike took a deep breath, his vision could penetrate the dark, he could see what was stepping towards him, shoving smaller Orks out of it's way. It's height was such that it needed to duck it's head to fit through the doorway to the loading bay, which were twice as high as Corax. The titanic Ork warlord's glowing red eyes fixed on Shrike, who seemed to be growing smaller as the creature approached. Bird-Breaka huffed once, and then let out a roar that rattled Corax' teeth: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"
Shrike's reply was immediate: he flung his arms out, and down to his sides, his talons reaching maximum extension. Arcs of lightning crackled between the blades as Shrike supercharged the talon's capacitor. The turbines of his jump-pack flared eagerly, as though waiting for orders. The warlord snarled:
"IMMA KEEL YOU, SPESS MAREEN!"
"Better men than you have tried, Ork." said Shrike:
"And things so far beyond men you can't even begin to imagine them."
The Warlord charged.
The Raven leapt.
The battle was on.
Shrike corkscrewed as he rose, crackling blades carving a chunk out of the Warlord's face, sending the titanic Ork reeling. Shrike caught hold of the Ork's head and held fast, slashing repeatedly at the monster's face with his free hand. The Ork bellowed and screamed, swinging it's massive arms in an attempt to knock the space marine off. The surviving Orks, emboldened by their leader, charged out of the loading room, diving between the warlord's legs, firing their crude weapons at Corax and the veterans. A hail of bolter fire met them, Corax in particular scything down a howling meganob who was trampled by his fellows as soon as he fell. Corax jerked his head back as a slugga round took a shower of sparks off the edge of the skip.
"Don't worry!" called one of the sternguard:
"Orks are the worst marksmen in the universe!" A bullet ricocheted off his helmet with a Clung sound.
"Although they do occasionally get lucky!": Corax called back.
He glanced back at the warlord, whose sheer size was making difficult to reach Shrike, who had climbed atop the giant Ork's head. Corax sent a burst of heavy bolter fire at the Ork's legs, sending the warlord to his knees. Shrike stabbed his talon as deep into the Ork's skull as he could go, and then discharged the power field. The Ork's eyeballs exploded as the fluid in them flash-vaporized. Arcs of lightning leapt through the Ork's brain, charring it from the inside out. The monster went limp, and fell on his face. Shrike stood as the remaining Orks turned to regard their fallen leader. Shrike's red eyes blazed out at the Orks as he seemed to grow impossibly tall. His wings spread out behind him, casting shadow over the Orks and leaving him in silhouette.
All that could be seen were his eyes.
The Orks screamed.
Corax smiled.

-TIMESKIP- Corax looked about, the Marines had cleared a wide space where they could be teleported without risk of bringing anything with them. Shrike was talking on his radio, conversing with the orbiting battle-barge. From what Corax could make out, the astropaths aboard the ship were talking about some kind of rallying point, and Corax' spirits were lifted considerably by the mention of other Primarchs. Since his mysterious arrival at the Ravenspire, Corax had wondered if any of his brothers had been thrown forwards as he had. He was broken out of his reverie by Shrike poking him in the stomach.
"The Battle-barge is ready for us." Corax nodded and took his position with the other marines, each maintaining at least a metre of distance between each other.
"We're ready," said Shrike.
"Energize" (AN. Sorry, I couldn't resist) There was a flash, a feeling of sudden cold, a whirl of colour and Corax found himself standing in the teleport cradle, with frost tickling his eyelashes. Shrike was already out of his cradle and speaking intently with a tech-marine. Corax spoke:
"Are we going to the muster?" Shrike looked up:
"You are, yes, but not aboard the battle-barge, the situation here is too urgent for me to leave." He beckoned Corax to follow him and began walking swiftly out of the room, continuing as he went:
"The muster is happening around some minute speck of rock called Fervent, or so I'm told. The navigators tell me that the warp-tides are good, so you should make it there within two or three days, maybe more."
He rounded a corner and the two walked out into the hangar bay, where a thunderhawk sat idling.
"This will take you to the Strike cruiser." said Shrike, pausing at the base of the embarking ramp.
"I understand that I haven't been forthcoming with information, or gratitude."
Something of an understatement there, thought Corax, but nodded for Shrike to continue.
"And I can only say that I wish we had met in better times. If half of what the astropaths say is true, however, then better times may already be upon us."
Shrike smiled weakly.
"It was a pleasure."
Corax nodded:
"Likewise. It is good to see the Guard in capable hands, Captain."
They saluted, and Corax strode up the ramp, banging on the ceiling with one hand to inform the pilot that he was aboard. Shrike watched as the thunderhawk lifted off, before flying out of the depressurized hangar bay. He watched until the shape was lost among the stars, and strode back back into the ship.
He had a war to win.

The Raven and the Night Lord

Curze sat quietly in a cramped corridor in one of the Vengeful Spirit's forgotten decks. He stared at the floor, eyes seeing nothing. The faintest sound caused him to look up. Corax looked back, his pale face practically the mirror of Conrad's. The differences between them spoke volumes: Corax' hair was swept back from his face, while Conrad's hung over his face, obscuring his eyes. Conrad's eyes were sunken into his face, while Corax' cooly regarded the Night Lord, easily piercing the gloom of the abandoned corridor.
"I was wondering who would find me first." murmured Curze,
"Of course It would be you."
"I was born in the dark as well, Konrad." said Corax, sitting down next to his fellow primarch. He watched as Konrad dropped his head into his hands and began kneading his skull with the tips of his fingers.
"Headache?"
"No." Konrad looked up with a faintly crazed look on his face.
"For the first time in... before I can remember. My head is clear. Look:" He seized Corax' wrist in his hand, fingers digging in like steel cables.
"Nothing. I see nothing." He let go of Corax and shuffled along the bench they were sitting on.
"What did you see?" said Corax, attempting to coax the feeling back into his hand.
"Everytime I touched someone, I would see how they died. Anyone."
"We've touched before now, what did you see of me?"
"You were killed."
"There I was, thinking I'd choke to death on a fish bone." Conrad snorted. Corax continued:
"Who by?"
"You".

Capturing Cassini

The Ragnarok's strategum room had emptied, the other primarchs leaving to sort out their own legions. All that remained was the Lord of Ravens and the Night Haunter. Corax was studying the strategum projection of the Sol system, with Curze standing off to the side, intrigued in spite of himself. Corax' fingers moved deftly over the controls, panning the view away from Terra, and closing on a ringed planet which Conrad did not recognise.
"What's that?"
"Saturn. Base of Battlefleet Solar, and location of the Imperial shipyards." The view zoomed in further, to a large planetoid in orbit of saturn. Conrad glanced at the tag affixed to the projection: TITAN. Corax zoomed in even further, past the moon, to a minute station that quickly expanded to fill the projection.
"There," said Corax, stepping back from the controls:
"That's our target. The Cassini array."
Conrad stared at him.
"Care to elaborate, for those of us who do not share your thoughts?"
Corax scowled, as though his plan should have been obvious.
"The array is an ancient lance array, built during the Golden Age, the mechanicum reverse-engineering it lead to the use of lance weapons today. It's shots can reach past the orbit of Pluto, but if we turn it inwards-"
"A clear shot at Terra, I see."
"We can destroy half terra's defences before they know who is shooting at them."
Curze folded his arms.
"Are you forgetting the Inquisitor's Final Solution?"
"Leave the torpedoes to me."

A prismatic burst of warped reality was all that heralded the first time a primarch had entered the Sol system in 10 thousand years. As the warp rift closed behind it, the strike cruiser began to fade from sight, before igniting it's drives, and slipping through the void. -TIMESKIP-
Corax stood close to Conrad, compulsively checking the seals of his void-suit. Conrad, for his part, just stood with his arms folded, watching the countdown next to the airlock door. He glanced at Corax:
"Relax, brother" his voice had a hint of sneer,
"It's not as if we haven't done this sort of thing before."
Corax forced himself to stand straight and keep his hands at his side. He had always been a compulsive fidgeter. He checked the readout again: 15 seconds remaining. He looked out the viewport, the array was a black cut-out against beige Saturn, glittering where it caught the sun.
5.
4.
3.
"Oh, I'm having the strangest feeling of deja vu", thought Corax.
2.
The primarchs braced themselves:
1.
The thunderhawk door opened with a bang, the air rushing out instantly, carrying the two primarchs along with it. Corax turned over lazily, seeing the thunderhawk turn and vanish into the void. He turned back around, the array was rushing towards him at a breathtaking pace. He stretched out his arms, tensing for the impact. But something had gone wrong. His angle was off, he would miss the array by the most tiny margin. Corax stretched his arms out further as the array passed underneath him. Fingertips scrabbled along the smooth surface, desperately seeking a handhold. Cassini slipped away, just out of his grasp. An iron grip on his wrist almost tore his arm out of its socket. Corax looked up. Conrad, magnetic boots firmly attached to the station's hull, had seized his arm at the last moment. He tugged on Corax, bringing him close enough that the Raven Guard could lock his own boots onto the station. Corax bumped their helmets together.
"Thank you, Conrad. I thought that was the end for sure." Kurze pushed him away, saying nothing. The two clambered across the hull in eerie silence, Corax' breathing loud in his ears. He stopped as Conrad held up a hand and pointed. A viewport, big enough for both of them to fit through. Corax could dimly see the shapes of men moving around through it. Conrad drew back his fist and looked at Corax for confirmation. The Raven Lord considered for a moment that the men within were loyal servants of the Emperor, merely following orders. Part of him hated himself as he nodded.
Curze punched his fist through the window.
The air rushed out with a howl, buffeting the two Primarchs as they clambered in. The men that Corax had seen were scattered, many clutching at their chests, and coughing up blood where the sudden change in pressure had caused their lungs to burst. One of the men who had managed to empty his lungs in time turned to the primarchs. Curze caught his head and crushed it like an egg. The survivors were running back along the corridor, towards the safety of a hydraulic blast door. As the Primarchs advanced, the door began to rapidly slide closed. Corax darted forwards and jammed himself into the gap, grimacing as the door closed on his arms. Bracing himself against the frame, he pushed against the door with all his might.
"Cut the hydraulics!" he gasped, gesturing to the chevroned panel with his head. Konrad wrenched the panel open and tore out the thick cable he found within. The pressure against Corax slackened immediately, and he forced the adamantium panel back into its housing with a percussive bang. Curze pushed past him, sprinting into the nerve centre of the defensive station. Corax followed, ducking a blast from the shotgun of a particularly quick-witted crewmember, whose neck was immediately snapped by Konrad as he fumbled for another shell. Corax leaped up a ladder, heading for the command console that would give him control of the station. He tried to shut out the screams of the station personnel at the mercy of the Night Haunter. Corax spotted the cylindrical room he had been looking for, and sprinted for the entrance. At the last moment, he saw the edge of a red cape flutter, and turned his sprint into a roll that carried him under the power axe's sweep. Pivoting inside the cramped room, Corax seized the techpriest in a bear hug, trapping the power axe against the Adept's chest. He squeezed for all he was worth, until something in the writhing body collapsed, and cold fluid dribbled out of the red robe.
He let the adept fall and turned to the command console as he heard Konrad's tread behind him. Corax beheld the pulsing text on the main screen, and his eyes widened a fraction.
REACTOR CORE OVERLOAD PROCEDURE: INITIATED. TIME TO OVERLOAD: 180 SECONDS.
Corax heard Konrad speak behind him:
"FUCK!"
He couldn't help but agree.
Corax turned, shoving Konrad out of the doorway, and looking frantically up and down the cylindrical station.
"Reactor's to the left!" barked Konrad, spurring Corax into action. Together, the two raced for the large door at the far end of the station, emblazoned with warning signs.Corax wrenched the door open and the two forced themselves into the searing heat within.
"Look for the coolant systems!" Corax roared, vaulting a crate of spare parts and looking quickly left and right.
"If we can re-engage it manually, it'll stop the overload!"
"To the right!" yelled Konrad, pointing to a flashing cogitator. Corax leapt for the console and began punching in commands. Konrad turned to a separate console, this one marked CONTROL RODS, and began the insertion procedure. Several tense moments followed, both Primarchs utterly absorbed in their work, heedless of the rising heat and growing roaring sound from the sealed chamber before them. Corax leaned back from the controls, helpless to do anymore than watch the blinking cursor as the cooling systems cycled up.
After what seemed eternity, a servitor's voice spoke over the roaring of the reactor:
"COOLANT SYSTEMS RE-ENGAGED. REACTOR TEMPERATURE: FALLING" Another voice immediately spoke up, cutting over the first:
"CONTROL RODS INSERTED. REACTION SLOWING"
Both Primarchs slumped against their consoles with relief. They looked up at each other, reached out, and tapped their knuckles together.

Konrad stood at the control console, watching the screen showing the thunderhawk carrying Corax jetting away from the station. As it vanished from the sensors, Konrad glanced at the fire control console. Corax had been right, the station's range would reach Terra... and the multitude of starforts and battleships surrounding the planet were proving a very hard target for Konrad to ignore. An alarm bleeped, informing him that the array's sensors had picked up the cloaked strike cruiser passing by.He cancelled the alert, preparing for Corax' signal to begin the bombardment...

ABOARD THE STRIKE CRUISER

Corax strode into the quarters he had claimed for his stay aboard. He nodded at the two Luna Wolves who were standing guard at the door, two of the thousands aboard who were preparing for the first stage of the liberation of Terra.

Corax paused on the threshold... and then smashed his armoured elbow into the helmet of the marine standing to the left of the door. The primarch's strength slammed the back of the marine's head into the inside of his helmet, knocking him senseless. Corax moved forward, knocking the other marine's bolter away with one hand and seizing his helmet with the other. The primarch swept the marine's legs out from under him and pinned him to the deckplate with his knees. He twisted off the struggling marine's helmet and smiled:
"Hello there... Brother Alpharius."

Perturabo and Dorn

I imagine that Peturabo would be very bitter, and since we're getting them before they started hating eachother, he'd be mostly angry at himself for having let something so silly get to him. I don't think he'd go in for buddying up with Dorn, and Dorn seems like enough of an asshole not to give Peturabo the chance to do so anyways.

I think Peturabo would be obsessed with drawing out the original one, sort of an Iron Cage thing and in a moment of pure badass, he'll reveal that he did work things out with Dorn well enough to let Dorn in on the plan.

One of those 'But I know you, this is the end, there's nowhere for you to run' 'You're right about that, but there's something you missed' <Enter Dorn with a thunderhammer> 'I learned from your mistakes.'

The Iron Cage Revisited

It was a scent of iron on the immaterium that attracted Perturabo's gaze. High above the screams and rumble of the daemon forges, the scent made his pulse quicken, his jaw clench. It was as though someone was watching him from some far off place. He shifted uneasily in his Daemon Throne for a moment before the awareness hit him with the force of a thunder hammer. He could feel it being built, towers raised, trenches dug, enfalides planned. Those ruins he had fortified so long ago were being fortified. Nay, desecrated by some lesser hand. But it wasn't a lesser hand. And that was what was galling. He could feel the ingenuity, the careful attention to the smallest detail. It was the work of a genius. It was something He would build. Only one person... but he was dead. He had to be. Dorn. But he had Dorn's hand right there on the table. He had made Angron give it to him. He had almost fought Angron for the skull. Why hadn't he fought Angron for the skull? Was it because he was afraid of Angron? Ha! Afraid of that bloody fool. No, he'd let Angron have his way. Yes, let the petulant fool have his way. Perturabo didn't need it anyways. But Dorn. Only Perturabo or Dorn could build like that. So it must be Dorn. He should have known that Angron couldn't have killed Dorn. Only Perturabo could defeat Dorn. Foolish of him to think otherwise. But there was the hand! Mocking him! Making a fool of him! In a rage, Perturabo lunged at the table, siezed Dorn's arm and roared "You're dead! I won. You died! You can't build anymore! I'm the better man! The better son!" He tried to choke off those last words, but the came out anyways. He felt his entire body tense. The gods were watching. The other primarchs were watching. Angron had done this to make a fool of him.

Dorn and Angron had been in on it from the start, laughing at him, hadn't they said as much? They didn't need to, he knew. Behind the smiles of the other Primarchs had been only mockery. Even Horus. Horus who'd failed and humiliated them all. How disgusting. And now Dorn was laughing at him again. They were all laughing at him.
Perturabo's grip on the dessicated arm tightened with mad fury. He could feel Dorn's laughter in it. He pounded it against the wall.
STOP
LAUGHING
STOP
LAUGHING
The bones stronger than ceramite snapped, but still Perturabo kept pounding.
The bones crumbled to dust, but still he kept at it.
Only when his fingers were bleeding did Perturabo stop, his chest heaving with rage.
He'd just have to prove Dorn wrong.
Yes. He'd show Dorn. He'd teach Dorn a lesson he'd never forget. And this time there would be no Gulliman to save him. It would be Dorn and Perturabo and this time he'd show him.

Perturabo stormed from the his chamber and roared at the men who worked in the rooms below: "Honsou! Shon'tu! Assemble the men and ready the fleet! We go to crush the enemy!"

On Istvaan V, Perturabo looked up from the construction. Something had changed in the wind. He could feel the baleful light from the Eye, though he couldn't see it. He smiled. Everything was right on schedule.

Perturabo sat uneasily in his seat aboard his flagship. He wanted to tell his men to slow down, to give the whelp that was Dorn more time to prepare, to make his victory all the sweeter. Yes, let Dorn laugh while he still could. It was funny, how that fool strutted and postured, when death came for him. Perturabo almost laughed. But he didn't. They might think he was nervous. He wasn't, but Honsou and Shon'tu. They both thought they were better than him. They were waiting for a moment of weakness from him. And then they'd strike, betray him. Laugh at him. But no. That would never happen because Perturabo was the greatest mind there had ever been. Wasn't this fleet, this vendetta the proof of that? No, the proof would only be when he had Dorn's head in his hand. No more humouring Angron. Angron, Dorn, they'd all pay.

The fleet arrived in orbit around Istvaan V. For a second time Perturabo prepared to drop to its surface. If only Dorn had been there to see him in his glory. A message came in over the Vox. Perturabo prepared to laugh in the face of Dorn, but it wasn't Dorn.
Perturabo found himself staring at Perturabo. Perturabo was smiling at him. Laughing almost. Making fun of him!
"WHAT CRUEL TRICK IS THIS?"
"This is no trick, my twin. I'm here and I've made a challenge for you. For us. Because there can only be one of us. The true Peturabo will be the one that leaves this planet alive. So come, crush my citadel. If you can."
With that the channel cut out.
Perturabo shook with barely hidden rage. His men were staring at him, confused. No they were laughing at him. Secretly. They thought him a fool! How could he have thought it was Dorn. Dorn was dead. He had his arm. He crushed his arm. And Dorn could never build a fortress like the one awaiting him below. Yes. Dorn would cry to see such a beautiful work. Only Perturabo could build like that. And that was the challenge. He had to crush the imposter. He'd prove he was the real one. The other one was a drone. A doll. And he was not a doll. No, he was a man. A God!
He turned to his men.
"Begin the bombardment, we make planetfall in an hour. Kill everything you find, but leave the impostor for me."

Perturabo and his men surged through the bunker. They'd been on Istvaan for hours now, fighting their way through killing fields and defense lines, into the Citadel, and down, down, down into the bunkers. They were good, but he was better. He knew it. And as the blast doors came down before him, he knew he was. He fought at the head. In hopes of siting the impostor. So his men wouldn't slay him before he could get his hands on him and tear off his laughing head. Honsou probably wanted to steal the glory. Shon'tu as well. Where were they? He'd lost track of them in the fighting. Maybe they had gone off alone and died. Yes. For their arrogance. No. He liked them. They were good soldiers. Good subordinates. But they needed to know their place. He hoped they survived. Maybe wounded. So that way they'd see how inferior they were to him. Yes. That would be good.
He moved faster and faster. Killing, rending, ripping. He began leaving his men behind. They could follow. He knew his way. He knew where the impostor would be, knew that there'd be little in his way. Puzzles perhaps, but nothing he couldn't solve. He'd show him. Yes. He'd be there soon to wring his smug neck.

Perturabo kicked down the last set of doors. This was it. He'd designed this place. He'd find the impostor here. He would kill him and he would prove he was the real one. Yes.
And there he was, the imposter, standing in front of him. But he was no match. Perturabo was a Daemon Prince and the man before him was a mere mortal. Perturabo allowed himself a rare smile.
"This is it. This is the end. Your end."
Perturabo said nothing.
"But you're finished! Nowhere to run! I know you. I know how you think! But I outsmarted you! You're trapped in here!"
Peturabo smiled wanly (Why did he smile?!) and replied. "You're right. This is the end. But there's something you missed."
Perturabo's eyes narrowed.
Clang.
He hadn't he'd missed nothing.
Clang.
He'd ignored the other branches because none of them led here.
But that sound, the sound of ceramite boots on a floor. What was it?!
Perturabo turned. Behind him, in the hall, advancing with a thunderhammer in his hands was Rogal Dorn.
Perturabo backed away. Backed away from both of them.
Perturabo was smiling. Perturabo was laughing at him. Dorn was laughing at him.
"You see, I learned from your mistakes."

And in that final moment before the hammer struck, Perturabo wasn't sure whom he hated more. Dorn or Perturabo.

Horus

As Horus sat down in a small - now void of any souls save for his own – chapel to the Emperor, his gaze wandered, his mind full of questions and doubts. He knew full well of the developments of his past self's heresy. He knew of betrayal. He knew of the grief that has been caused. Yet he knew, deep inside, that the betrayal was so grave not only because he had turned his back on his father. He knew that in the final hours what he casted aside was, first and foremost his humanity. When he saw the brave soldier, the lone man standing between an enraged demigod, a Primarch, and his beloved Emperor, the human being that did not waver and did not make a single step backwards. By striking him down he became an enemy not only to his own parent, but to whole mankind. What caused this was of no consequence. What led to this was irrelevant. Horus was a man of honour, and he needed to atone for what he had done. Only now did he realise that he was no longer alone in the chapel. He was so focused on his own thoughts that even his excellent senses did not notice that another man has entered the holy ground. A few metres behind where he was seated now stood a small, frail figure, with its face engulfed in darkness by the hood of his cloak. The silhouette did not flinch when Horus stood up. Then it spoke, abruptly breaking the silence that fell, its voice confident yet soft.

- Do you know of the religions of old, son of Emperor? - the words rang.

Horus did not move after hearing the man speak, and watched as he passed him, slowly moving towards the altar at the end of the chapel.

- Walk with me, and let me tell you a tale.

The two strode along, the powerful demigod listening in silence as he followed the hooded man.

- In past times, men did many things in the name of religion. Things that led our Emperor to believe that every belief in the supernatural was evil and led to suffering. But there is one thing in the ways of old that I see as inherently human, the best virtue that men can aspire to. Do you know what that is?

Horus found himself strangely enthralled by the speaker. Though his mind was sharp like no other, and he knew the immediate authority his very being held among men, somehow he knew that in this very moment it was his role to listen.

- I do not.

- It was forgiveness. Belief that no act, no evil deed would be so foul that it could not be forgiven. Not even the greatest of betrayals.

They stopped, as the were now only a few steps from the altar, and the steps that rose towards it. Horus turned towards the figure, his mind now certain that he knew what needed to be done. He reached to his side and unsheathed a dagger, a weapon that seemed fragile and tiny in his powerful hand, but for a normal man would be as big as a sword. He held it out, and knelt. Even though there were only two of them in the whole chapel, it felt like the whole chamber was now filled with eyes staring intently. Millions of souls waiting for what was to come.

- I know not who you are. And I need not know, for I know what must be done – Horus said – though I am reborn, the man that caused all the suffering and grief, the man turned against his brethren is a part of me. And it is by these brethren that I should be judged.

The hooded figure took the dagger, and though its eyes could not be seen Horus felt as if he was looking at the dagger, pondering. He held it with a firm grip, and it seemed as if he was no longer the frail, small human that entered the chapel. In front of him was a being as tall and powerful as any Astartes, and his voice was much more powerful as it echoed along the arches.

- It is only right indeed. - as he said these words it seemed as if the darkness that shrouded his face was now gone, and instead a blinding light shone, illuminating the surroundings. For a blink of an eye, for a moment as brief as a heartbeat Horus though that he recognized the visage of the last man he killed, the man that stood firm against evil that he once represented and paid the ultimate price. Or was it just what he hoped for, what he wished for? Maybe he wanted it to be Ollanius, he wanted it to be the man most worthy of punishing the Warmaster.

- But it is not today that your life should end. You are your own man now, no longer bound by the wickedness and treachery of Chaos. You no longer are Warmaster. You are Horus, son of the Emperor, and for you had done you must atone.

After hearing these words, for the first time, Horus wept. When he rose, the man was gone and no trace of him left in the chapel. The light was still there, as if the whole chamber was now filled with a strange glow. The dagger lay on the ground. As he rose, he felt as if the gazes of every soul that seemed to fill the chapel were no longer judging. They were proud. He was once more one of them. He was once more the finest of them. He knew what lay ahead of him and as he walked out, he felt ready to face his father, to face his future, to face the great undertaking – the undoing of his own, past deeds.

Captain Mathaius Ward on Guilliman's Return

"Sorry son, you see... your brain its, well I'm not going to fool you, the blood vessels on your brain are going to explode with the first set of implants and augments. I'm sure you're a loyal citizen of the Imperium but I'm sorry you wont be able to be an Astartes"

And that's it, thats how an old Medicae officer crushed my dreams of being an Astartes, one of my biggest dreams that will never be. But now the real big dream of my life is going to be real, to finally see with my own eyes the biggest primarch, second only to the Holy Emperor, a titan, a demigod and writer of the Codex Astartes. Today, finally I'm going to meet him, Roboute Guilliman

The naval officer was nervous, like a child on Emperor's day, even a veteran of countless battles was not used to see Astartes on real life, and a primarch, a hero of legend was a honor beyond his wildest dreams. He checked again on the mirror every minor detail of his uniform, every brass button and insignia of his parade uniform was polished, his boots, his sword, everything was perfect.The disappointment of youth was long past forgotten, the countless times he visited the Shrine of Guilliman, the visions of fighting the enemies of the Imperium under the orders of his spiritual liege, every minor detail of his life will take him here to this single day.

The sky over the Fortress of Hera was bright, not a single cloud on it. Around the spaceport the ultramarine banners give a festive yet solemn aura to the scene. Fast as a brid of pray the Thunderhawk approached while the honor guard stood waiting for the Primarch to arrive.

The giant spaceship opened its bay doors and an imposing figure, returned at last after so many years to his homeworld. The Astartes honor guard were the first to welcome the primarch, the noble Marneus Calgar seem small for the first time at the side of Guilliman himself, a thunderous clash seemed to shook the spaceport itself when those two warriors embraced like long lost brothers of arms, two noble and proud warriors separated by millenia of war

The civilian authorities of Macragge, with a pdf and naval honor guard walked to welcome and greet the living legend, the naval officer wanted to tell him about how honored was to be able to see him, to tell the primarch about his dreams and how loyal and proudly he served on the Fleet over Macragge but the anticipation was to much for him, he started to walk towards the towering Astartes but he fainted and everything went dark

While a couple of PDF guards took the unconcious naval officer to the Medicae, Guilliman and Calgar walked to the Fortress

You know, that captain seems... well, disturbed -Guilliman pointed to Calgar-

Yes my lord, he's loyal and brave beyond doubt but you know he seems to think you're a demigod sometimes I think he's obsessed with you

That could be dangerous, -Guilliman's face showed real concern for the human- please Marneus, be sure that he gets the best medical attention possible. He's a loyal servant of the Imperium even if he's not the brightest one. What's his name ?

He's Captain Mathaius. Captain Mathaius Ward. -Calgar answered with a faint smile-

Magnus

Magnus1 has clearly been stalking Magnus2 and Tzeentch daemon incursions are becoming more frequent. Finally, something happens and they meet face to face. Magnus2 is nervous, grips his holy lance and prepares to slay himself. He's clearly not quite ready for it, his encounter with Russ was only a few days before, and he isn't sure that he even blames Magnus1, but here, in the moment, his lance crackles to life and he tenses for the fight.
But Magnus1 stops him, drops any weapon he has, lowers his arms, lowers his psychic defenses.
'I only wanted to see you with my own eyes. To make sure you were real, to make sure you were me. And you're not me. You're better. So I'm satisfied. Take care of our legion.'
And then he turns towards the conveniently placed Fateweaver or what-have-you of Tzeentch and sets off the psychic equivalent of an A-Bomb. His mortal form psychically combusts as he releases the daemon princedom and the powers his father gave him. You can barely hear him say: 'Forgive me father'. All around, across the battle, daemon's heads explode like its fucking raiders of the lost ark. Chaos Sorcerers are blinded and the Rubricae stand tall, their souls re-bound and they look towards the new Magnus as their leader.
Meanwhile the blazing form of the Primarch grants some sort of stability to the Magnus2's legion, like a mass soul binding with the Emperor, with the spirit of M1 as the bridge.

If we were to talk about Legion practice later, new recruits would drink some holy Soma and enter a trance where they'd see the history of their legion and as it happened they'd feel mutation and impurity surge across them until M1's sacrifice healed them. (By the grace of the God Emperor!)

Another Take

He stood upon a dead world of ash and bones, his hands tightly clutched around his spear. His back ached, the multitude of ‘holy’ sigils etched there smarting still. A part of his mind rebelled and railed against this word; holy. Belief and faith in the Empire was one thing, but to treat him as a god? It was the antithesis of all the great crusade had been about!

Deep breaths calmed Magnus enough to ease his mind into the familiar routines of battle meditation. He came here with a purpose so great and terrible he needed all the help he could get, whether or not he agreed with the philosophies of the grey armoured Astartes who had armed him. Slaying Daemons was their trade, after all, and he had come here to slay a daemon of unfathomable power, the one they named the crimson king.

Nikaea. That was the name of this rock. He was assured it meant a lot to the King, and that he would be unable to resist the challenge of activity on Nikaea. In truth, the crawling, scraping, bowing scholars that had suggested this place had been most vague as to why. He had been somewhat distracted at the time, as a dozen chanting knights had been carving 666 symbols into the flawless skin of his back. Now his mind sifted through the likely possibilities. Was the King defeated here? Humbled? Or is it the sight of a victory? A testament to his ruthless treatment of defeated worlds? It could mean everything or nothing.

Through the aether, he felt the quake. The second skin of reality seemed to tremble for a moment, shaken by the arrival of his target. He was not alone, however. In front of Magnus, next to the nexus of swirling energy that was the King stood a humanoid avian figure as tall as a Primarch. Its body seemed withered and twisted, however, perhaps because of the hideous mutation of an extra head. Its spindly hands clasped a huge staff that reeked of warp energy. It seemed that the daemon, and Magnus could think of no word to describe it so perfectly, was responsible for his foe’s arrival.

Yes, his foe. The twisting light slowly dimmed and dissipated until the figure was revealed. Magnus wasn’t sure what he had expected, other than that it would look at least somewhat like him. Whatever image had been in his mind, it wasn’t what stood before him. The King was, before everything else, clearly him. From his stature to the slight smile playing across his lips to the mane of red hair, yet each was a twisted. The smile was a little less kind and a bit more contemptuous, the hair a little bloodier and less regal. He wore interlocking plates of gold and blue armour, though it seemed more ornamental than practical, and bore a staff not unlike the daemon’s.

Magnus cleared his face of emotion and stepped forth. The King raised a hand and the daemon bowed and stepped back. Then the towering entity walked forwards to meet himself. When they were finally face to face, the King lifted his hand to touch his own empty socket.

“Together, we have a the correct amount of eyes”

Magnus didn’t reply, his jaw clenched. He could feel the power seeping for every atom of the King’s being. Even when standing before his father on the steps of the Imperial palace on Terra, he had never been so sure that the being who stood before him was his superior in psychik might. It was insane to even dream of fighting the king. Had they known that went they sent him here? It mattered not. The King’s failure was his as well and he would wash it away with blood, and he cared not from whence it flowed. Magnus prepared to begin his assault, with magic and mind as well as tooth and nail.

“Hold Brother. I am not here to fight you. I had to see”

These words cut through Magnus’s concentration perfectly. He stopped readying his mind for the oncoming floor and considered the King’s words.

“You had to see what?” He said at length.

The King smiled sadly.

“I had to see if it was true. They said you were me, but they were wrong. You are more than I am, than I ever was. You haven’t failed. You won’t fail. You will be what I should have been. I only ask that you remember my last act, not those that lead up to it”

Magnus wrinkled his brow in confusion, all attempt at seeming impassive and aloof forgotten.

“I do not understand. They told me you were a traitor, an unrepentant enemy of the Emperor. What happened to you?”

Now the King’s smile collapsed into a look of despair.

“Much happened to me. I never sought to betray him, please believe that. All I wished was to warn him and to save him... but I disobeyed him. In the end, I am as guilty as any of my brothers. Now I must say goodbye, Magnus the Red, for I have one last spell to cast”

So saying, the king turned and strode towards his daemon accomplice. The thing opened its mouths to speak and Magnus could feel its infernal mind spreading through the air. But the King stopped both with a single gesture, holding it immobile until he stood before it. He reached out and gripped it by the throat, pulling it close. Magnus just heard the words that came from his lips, despite the growing roar of the winds and crackle of the warp.

“Didn’t see this one coming, did you?”

Now Magnus could see, with the eye closed to the material world, what the king was doing. All that power was being turned inwards, twisted back on itself again and again, each twist making it more potent and less stable. The daemon was struggling to escape but the King was twisting its essence into his own. The only conclusion of the spell would be the destruction of both and the psychic ruin of the entire planet. Magnus spent less than a second calculating the odds of escaping the planet before the King completed the spell and dismissed them. He would witness this with his last seconds, a worthy end to a life of magic.

Then the spell changed. The mass of energy was no longer twisting inwards. Some of it flew through the aether, further and faster than even Magnus could follow it. He could easily guess its destination, however. It was aimed at where he had left his legion and for a moment he feared for the fate of his sons. The King, surrounded by impossible and unthinkable energies never meant to be gathered in one place, turned to Magnus and smiled.

“I will not let them be used against you as they were against me. Never again shall a Son fall to the flaws of his flesh”

Then his eyes closed and the energy swallowed him and the struggling daemon completely. An orb of sheer oblivion swelled for a few seconds, swallowing much of the ground in front of Magnus but stopping just in front of his armoured feet. He felt the mental presence of both the King and the daemon simply... vanish. The great ocean was still for a moment as the orb dissipated then exploded into a terrible storm. Warp travel around Nikaea would be impossible for some weeks, but that was not Magnus was thinking of. Instead, he wondered whether he had heard what he thought he had just before the climax of the destructive power.

“Father, forgive me and forget me. Magnus will be all that I should have been”

Ahriman

On the dead world of Prospero, 18 figures stood. 2 sets of 9 warriors regarded each other. Both regarded each other with disgust and hatred. All, a teacher and student of the Great Ocean. Two Captains regarded each other.

Ahriman looked to his former self. A torrent of emotions washed over him. Anger, disgust, hope, envy, and despair. Likewise, his counter part also had a flood of emotions washed over him. Both controlled their emotions and powers through the use of the higher enumerations taught to them, by their Father.

"I assume you know why you are here." He said to his past.

"You intend to destroy me? Out of hate? Disgust?"

"No. I intend to do to you, as you have hoped to do to the Imperium and it's citizens. What I had hope to do."

Ahriman looked at him in the eyes.

"I intend to enlighten you. To our mistakes. Our despair. And our hopes. I believe, by having you know our fall, you can avoid our mistakes and attain our goal."

"I do not follow you. After all, do you not wish the destruction of mankind all for your own goals?" Ahriman spat with venom towards his twisted self.

"No... I do not. I seek our redemption. Our salvation. Father may have forsaken us. Some of our Legion, our Brothers, have forsaken us as well, but I have not. I am loyal still and all I care, is to prove our worth. Our strength. Our loyalty."

"After the destruction of our home.... What caused the destruction of our Legion? Our brotherhood?"

"Much. Father forsaken us, trying to scry into the far, far future, to assure himself. Meanwhile, I had tried to save us, only to damn us to a slow and agonizing undeath."

He sighed.

"But that is a tale for another time. Now, I must hand this to you. It is time you carry our burden, our knowledge, our hope, and our salvation."

He handed the scarlet warrior a leather bound grimoire.

"It is my life's work. My shame, my pride and the start of your journey, and the galaxy's salvation."

Magnus and Russ

Magnus and Russ almost come to blows, when Russ breaks down, says he can't do it again. And Magnus is still pissed and is wailing on him, telling Russ to stand and fight, and Russ is literally in tears, turns out he's never gotten over the guilt, turns out one of the reasons he went into the Warp was to find Magnus, felt he needed to finish what he started and perhaps with his death, he could finally erase his mistake.

Angron

Angron looked skyward at the daemonic embodiment of the failures his anger caused. It's massive size eclipsing the faint red light that the planets star cast over the planet, dwarfing even the massive visage of the younger, much less corrupted Angron.

It charged forward but the Primarch stood fast until its daemonic axe was about to come down upon his head before he leaped out of its path. Every time his daemonic self charged towards him he dodged out of the way, further enraging the giant daemon.

"Hold still! Fight with honor!!" It bellowed loudly, as he attempted to attack the Primarch again, as he did Angron shifted to the left of the blade and brought his massive chainaxe down on the crimson arm, chopping through the wrist. Boiling blood sprayed from its severed wrist. The daemonic Primarch swung his left arm at the uncorrupted Angron and the handle of its khornate axe smashed into his cerimite bound frame flinging him into the arena wall. He charged at him screaming "Blood for the blood god!!!" The Daemon Princes howls splitting the sky with fury. Angron's impact into the wall caused a huge section to come down on him, he flung himself out from the rubble and slid under the charging daemon prince, slicing through his right ankle as he did so, it knelt and shrieked at the sky before turning itself towards the pure Angron swinging its remaining axe and slamming the stump of its wrist at the Primarch missing every blow and become more furious.

"You serve this Blood God and this is all you can do?! Your gods have made you foolish and blind! You are weak and so are your gods..." The last part calm and far more enraging in its mocking tone. He grabbed the injured wrist of the daemon he had become in fates hands and slammed it to the ground, bending back the elbow, and charging to its neck. He grabbed unto its head and slid his chainaxe beneath its neck. "And now you may rest." He said in a tone of pity as he carved through its neck.

Konrad and the Order of the Obsidian Mirror

Kurze looked around the command hall again. Order of the Obsidian Mirror seals were still on the wall by the door behind the rows of vox and cogitator terminals at which Sororitas and Astartes sat. When he'd visited the space in the morning, he'd found it depressing, the fact that his Legion was being merged with ex-Inquisitors, Arbites, and Sororitas, as part of an Imperial Security Service, seemed a testament to his failures. After the day's meetings and exercises, after seeing these people in action, he found he was feeling something verging on hope. The Inquisitors were clever, the Arbites dedicated, and the Sororitas facile with data and full of surprises. No, he decided, he wouldn't change the emblem. His legion would always be the Night Lords, but the time had come to step from the shadows, not just to inspire terror, but heroism as well. If these mere humans could do it, then so could he; wasn't that what the God Emperor had made him for?

He almost allowed himself a smile.
A furrowed brow.

'What happened to me... ah, him. After he... er, I destroyed Nostromo?' he asked one of the Sororitas who had been guiding him. Yketrina was it? She didn't say anything, clearly thinking.
'I wasn't wrong about Nostromo. What I did.'
He thought he saw her nod ever so slightly. He felt an odd warmness and again almost smiled when she spoke: 'He survived the Heresy. He withdrew to the edges of the Imperium and allowed an assassin to take his life. He'd been waiting for her, it seems. His legion didn't survive his death; it broke up into roving terror bands that haunt the Imperium to this day.'

Kurze thought for a moment about that, about the assassin, and, without thinking murmured aloud:
'Death is nothing compared to vindication.'

The Old Man on Terra

He just appears one night, past the guards and assasins, in a teleportation locked room, before the inquisitor. Just to talk. He identifies himself as the hand of the emperor's judgment. And he looks it, his ornate armor nearly aglow with witchflame. Inq goes for bomb, shhhhh. No... now is not the time for that, besides I'm not one of those 18 primarchs. Now there are only dreams. So let's talk. You're here, sticking to your principles. I respect that. But are you sure of things? I mean you're talking to a 20 foot tall dude who appeared in your inner sanctum. No, don't call the guards, I'll be gone before they arrive. Consider me a figment of an overworked mind. I know that's how I think of myself. Something unsettling about warp travel, no matter what we say about it. So you make up a story. Helps you, your men. You make up a character. He'd never worry about the warp and the clawed things that craw there beyond men's sight. He'd never worry about the warp and the clawed things that craw there beyond men's sight. He's one of them. He's divine justice. You feel a bit more at ease because you can half believe in him. And your men do completely. So what's your story? Guardian of the Imperium? The way things are must be for a reason? Otherwise you've got to deal with the idea that the God Emperor isn't always there for you? Yeah, I get it. I don't even blame you. But are you sure? And I don't mean sure as in the 'If it's not true, then I don't want to live in that world!' sort of way. I mean are you sure that what you think is actually what you think? How did I get in here? Is that really a cyclonic torpedo you've got there? I read a story once, or maybe it was a dream I had. They're hard to tell the difference on some times, aren't they? It was about a man who lived on a world where it had always been night and he'd heard that dawn was coming. So he fought it, he built walls and passed laws, you get the idea. Anyways, he awoke. Turned out it had been day the whole time and that he'd been piling pillows. And what I'm saying is that that torpedo looks more like a pillow to me. But what do I know? It's not possible for me to be here anyways. And with that, the man began fading, until only his smile was left, which lingered for a few moments before it too vanished. The Inquisitor ran to the door, to find his guards standing at attention. Dismissing their questions, he returned to his room, though where he'd thought the torpedo had been, was his cat. Asleep as usual, but certainly not as he remembered things. The torpedo was at the foot of the bed now. Where he'd put it in the first place. He turned to get back into bed. To find his face inches away from the giant from before. It bent down. Just be sure that you're sure of things before you go blowing up Holy Terra. The Inquisitor staggered backwards. Guards! But it was too late. The giant was gone.

The Compliance of Erandi Setii Seven

It was a few days after Kurze had assumed command of the Imperial Intelligence community's ISS, long enough that he was no longer surprised by the numbers of humans around, but not long enough that he was entirely comfortable with it. Most of them looked at him with a mixture of fear and a distant sort of respect and the ones like Yktrina, who openly admired him (for what he had no idea), were worse. He felt more comfortable around the dark cynicism of Jago and the rest of the marines. They at least knew he was no hero. He gazed distractedly at the planet below. He almost felt bad for them; they'd revolted along with the rest of the sector, at the instigation of The Hand of the Emperor, that crazy old Inquisitor on Terra. Kurze had helped to break him. His duty to bring the Emperor's Justice, just as it was to do so here. No, what concerned Kurze was that he'd enjoyed it. He hadn't really felt comfortable discussing it with anyone, not even Corax or... he paused as he realized he'd never gotten his brother's name. He'd said 'Call me Ishmael', but Kruze had suspected that wasn't it. Ishmael had just laughed 'Names are power. I give you my true name, what's to stop you doing warp-magic and turning me into a newt? Besides, does it really matter what my true name is so long as you've something to call me?' Kurze had had to admit it didn't matter and that had been that. But no, Ishmael had enjoyed his part as the 'face of judgement'. Corax had clearly enjoyed the sneaking about, and Alpharius had clearly enjoyed the planning. And he'd enjoyed it too, but the company most of all. Yes, they'd all enjoyed driving that old man insane, driving mad his disciples, and breaking apart their entire force from the inside. Kurze had had to fight to keep from giggling (Corax did), when the old man had given Ishmael the detonator, convinced that Ishmael was a lieutenant and that he was no longer able to judge reality. What fun. And yet he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed it, smiled as suicides had increased, as inquisitors fled from the fortresses, pursued by assassins. It meant they were saving Terra, he'd told himself, but a deeper, more honest knowledge told him he enjoyed the challenge. And what was so wrong with that? Alpharius did too. Alpharius started up a betting pool for how long it would take high priority targets inside to break. Ishmael was uncomfortably accurate. And yet they were the heroes of the Imperium, the God Emperor's semi-divine sons.

And here he was, to bring 'justice' to another world. As he looked around his staff, he couldn't blame the assembled humans. They had conviction, and, more importantly, they'd never brought a world to compliance. And Kurze could at least comfort himself that he didn't exactly enjoy this either. All except for that same voice as before which told him he did, which told him to make the streets run red. On Nostromo, he'd used to listen to that voice. He tried to ignore it now as he prepared to give his orders. "Make the traitors pay, make them suffer", it said. "This is a grim task, that we have before us, but these people have declared war on the Imperium. They have turned their backs on the God Emperor. They're just afraid. And when they're afraid, they become stubborn, and like this, we cannot reach them except on their own terms. Most of them are good people caught up in the moment. It falls to us to pass judgement." He paused for a moment. The humans looked at him with respect. And Yketrina was admiring. He wondered if they'd still look at him like that when they were finished. In that moment, Kurze made a decision. It was a new era, he could try something new. "We commence the operation at dusk."

At dusk, the drop pods fell from the sky. Marines in midnight clad emerged, bearing icons of the Emperor. "You have denied his will. Return home and to the Imperium, or face his judgement." Kurze relaxed visibly as most did just that.

The rest began throwing stones and firing primitive stubbers at the Astartes. "You have been found guilty." The bolter fire cut down the rows of rioters. In minutes, every major dissident group on the planet had been torn to shreds. The bodies were left where they fell. Kurze spoke over the voxes, "We have been merciful. Imperial control is restored."

Three planets in the area capitulated. Most ignored the event except to stockpile weaponry. For the next few days, Kurze carried on the compliance of the sector listlessly. Marines had to fight on every world and the secessionists only grew bolder.

It was late when Yketrina came to his quarters with news, but Kurze told her it could wait a moment. "You seem confused by my actions of late." "Well, it was just that your reputation was..." "Bloodier?" "More effective. You know, the Obsidian Mirror has done compliance operations, too. There are arbiters on this ship. We've all experienced imperial justice before." "I know that, but I was hoping that there was another solution, that the heads wouldn't have to adorn pikes. I figured my brothers and I have been given a second chance, so I might as well try to take it." Yketrina paused. "Then it grieves me much to tell you what I must." She told him that militants sized infrastructure on Erandi Setii Seven and several other planets they'd brought back into compliance. People who had surrendered and returned home had been tracked down and killed, their bodies placed on public display. Chaos iconography had popped up on other planets that were preparing for war. On the worlds that did remain loyal, terrorist cells were beginning public bombings. Kurze closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Inside that voice was laughing. "People never learn, they only understand one language. You know what that is Konrad." He ignored it. "We return to Erandi Setii Seven. I fix my mistake."

Hours later, the fleet arrived in orbit over Erandi Setii Seven. Kurze went on the vox all over the sector. "Hello. It seems that my initial visit was not enough to convince you the error of your ways. And really, that's not my job. Lorgar is the one for theology and worship. Sanguinus is the one to set the heroic example. I'm here as judge, jury, and executioner. I'm the law and I find you guilty. What you need to understand is that when you commit a crime, you undermine the structure of your society. To those of you who consider yourself 'innocents', every one of you is in a unique situation. Many of you are too afraid to fight for what is right. I understand that. Perhaps you have family that they'll hurt if you stand up to them. Fair. But if you let them have their way, how long will it be before they come for your family anyway? You let them have their way and it means that we must fight them. When you stand by, you let them have their way. Some of you are too young or too old, and sometimes there are not enough of you, and in these cases, I am sorry. But in cases like these, the guilty will take the innocent hostage. The terrorist hides in a school, the tyrant behind the voice of an oppressed people. And we cannot afford to allow this. We do not negotiate with terrorists, we do not allow the guilty to make a shield of the innocent. We will try to save hostages whenever possible, but it isn't always and for that, I personally apologize. I pray that you find your way to the Emperor's side, but we cannot allow justice to be stayed. I hope that the rest of you watching will learn from this little lesson so that I shall never again have to repeat it. I hope that the sacrifices of today are worth it. To all of you: Think on your sins. We have come for you." As he went off-air, he hoped he was doing the right thing. "You may begin."

Within moments, the arrays deployed, turning day into night across the world below. Marines rode drop pods screaming towards the ground. Their orders were simple: 10 heads per marine, kill any that resisted, leave children alone. Pile the heads in town squares. Take trophies of judgement as usual. If a site was home to organized resistance, level it.

Within 3 hours, resistance had ceased. The leaders of the rebellion and the cells were captured and flayed alive, their screams broadcast across the sector. On dozens of planets, riots broke out immediately, the citizens attempting to return to the Imperium. Several suceeded even before the support squads Kurze dispatched arrived.

That night, Kurze dreamed of Ishmael. Ismael was sitting, talking with him and told him to call him Brother Ishmael. They talked about books and about drama as they had on many evenings when they'd been together, but in the dream, they talked about the relationship between actor and role and author and book. The dream was interrupted when a Void Reaver entered, 'O Captain, my captain' and Ishmael had had to leave. Kurze awoke thinking about that. He remembered that amongst Ishamael's men, he'd only ever heard of them call him 'Captain' or 'The Captain'. And Kurze understood.

When his fleet arrived at the few worlds that still resisted, Kurze tried something new. "When Conrad Kurze came, he offered you the chance to surrender. That chance is gone. Now, Night Haunter is here. Now, it is time for justice." After this broadcast, he turned to a surprised Yketrina. "Conrad Kurze is merciful, but he only comes once. I think the most important thing for us, is that we have rules and that we follow them. Otherwise, we're just monsters in a uniform, imperial sanction or not." Kurze still wasn't sure he believed it, but at least time her admiration didn't make him feel unclean. And that, for now, he could live with.

Argel Tal and Kharn

Another day, another population put to the axe.
It had become so damn routine to Kharn the Betrayer that it was almost impossible think about anything else other than how boring it was to kill these ordinary people. So when word came of Space Marines coming to this planet, it had given the Chosen of Khorne hope that this day could be salvaged somehow.

It was almost an insult to send the entire Word Bearers fleet to a single planet, much less to kill a single man, but this was a goodwill mission. Lorgar wanted to have the people on his side.
Instead of that overkill, it was Argel Tal who took the charge. Argel Tal had, after the public execution of Kor Phaeron, become the new First Captain of the Legion. While Lorgar felt that the notion was almost too prophetic in nature for the man who was the Crimson Lord of this timeline, he had let it pass as the captain had an incorrigible sense of honour. Tal took with him an elite company to ensure that only one man was responsible.

"Wait..."
The Betrayer had certainly seen weirder stuff before in the warp, but this was a first. In front of him stood a warrior in immaculate grey armor, a book adorned to his left pauldron. Even more pressing was the notion he was getting. He didn't even know he had notions.
"I recognize you from somewhere. Where was it?"
Argel Tal responded, "I surely do not recognize you, red fiend."
It was ridiculous. His job was to slaughter, so why was he thinking? What was it about this stranger that had Kharn's mind racing?
"Say..." Forget it. The memory will come eventually. He took a single swipe with Gorechild.
"A poorly chosen first move. I had too much room to block you."
Somebody dared criticize his fighting technique? He, the son of Khorne? What madness-no, wait. The memories again... Ages ago, before his armor had so much blood on it. Damn it, who was this person?
"I know you from somewhere, Astartes!" Another swing with Gorechild. Another parry. Again. Again. "I WILL find out, even if I need to kill you before then!" Argel Tal was humored by the butcher's words. "I just have to incense you enough to remember then?"
"I will NOT be made mocked, much less by a corpse-slave!" This was better, Kharn thought. Kill, don't think. As a matter of fact, stop thinking. Thinking gets in the way of killing.
Another parry, this time using Kharn's momentum to force Gorechild to the ground, and then kicking him square in the ribs and then using that same spin to swipe his sword, leaving a scratch upon his helm. This man had to have learned that move from somewhere. Moreso, he had to have learned it in a Gladiator Pit. Wait... "You almost seem to fight like Kharn." What? His name? "So much anger, and he finds the only release for it in killing."
"You know me." The Betrayer took rise. "YOU KNOW ME!! WHY DON'T I REMEMBER YOU?!"
Argel Tal smirked. "Hardly my fault."
Kharn then took notice of the prow of the Astartes craft. A Two-headed eagle, the bawdy trinket of that Imperium. Funny, it was under the shadow of one of these that he saw the corpse of...
"ARGEL TAL..."
"Ah, so you do have a mind."
This was perfect! He remembered now, that Word Bearer he was friends with once! Okay, friend was a bit of a stretch for World Eaters, but it was something! "Now I remember...! Now I have a reason to kill you!"
Argel Tal cocked his head. "Would that mean I recognize you?"
Kharn raised Gorechild high in the air. "Know this, Colchisian! I am Kharn the Betrayer, Chosen of Khorne, Butcher of Legions! I will kill everyone and their skulls will go to Khorne!" He lowered his chainaxe and then turned around.
"Does this mean you're a coward, too?"

Kharn stopped. A violent glare erupted. "You misunderstand me. I do not need to kill you. I already had my fill. But next time I hunger, know that you will be next."

Mortarion vs his Daemon Prince Self

Around Mortarion his legion was dying, the vile plague that had wracked this world and brought his "counterpart" here had run its course through his marines. The sick were swiftly executed, he would not make the same mistake as his damned twin had. In the ruins of what was once a hive he stood with the last line of defense his marines had put up, nowhere to run and a horde of Nurgle's vilest servants immune to pain and the fear it brings charging towards them, their predecessors vile with weak will and corruption. Pathetic is the only word that could come to his mind as he opened his mouth and in his grave voice he spoke to his marines "These pathetic hordes wish to see us dead and broken, but we have not bowed like our predecessors. We held our strength and endured the worst plagues these foul creatures god could create. AND WE HAVE ENDURED! AS WE ALWAYS HAVE! NOW I EXPECT YOU PROVE TO THESE WRETCHES WHY THE DEATH GUARD IS THE MOST STALWART LEGION AND WHY WE WILL ALWAYS ENDURE COMPARED TO THESE WEAKLINGS. NOW ON ME MEN WE WILL MAKE THEIR PATHETIC MASTER REGRET SENDING HIS "DEATH GUARD" TOWARDS US. FORWARD FOR THE IMPERIUM, FORWARD FOR REDEMPTION!"

And so with an uncharacteristic yell the remaining Death Guard charged. Mortarion bounded ahead his power scythe cutting down plague marines, ripping their foul insides out of them. When at last he spotted the one he had hoped would come. A great black shroud covered the towering figure, a great rotting scythe dripping with the foulest plagues of Nurgle's creation pointed at him as his deathly voice cracked "You... Impostor, come accept your death." Mortarion grinned "We shall see who endures you weakling, I will not bow so easily as you!"

He ran forward slicing his scythe at the torso of the cloaked one who easily blocked it with his own the rot rusting Mortarion’s Scythe. "You are slow..." The figure hissed, Mortarion jumped back as the figure's scythe tore apart the ground he stood on moments ago. "And you are weak willed!" He ran forward ducking low and around the figure his scythe raking along his back ripping apart his black cloak, as it fell he could see the corruption it hid. Foul boils and sloughing skin covered the daemon Primarch his flesh stripped bare on his hands. He looked at a visage of corruption that parodied his own. "Gaze on what true power looks like..."

The figure whipped around before Mortarion could so much as blink and brought his scythe down on the kneeling Primarch, he only had time to block it with the his own scythe which shattered from the blow a great light blasting him back. Mortarion coughed and looked at his battered armor; then his weapon, it was shattered but so was his counterparts who hissed at him "Come accept your death."

Mortarion spied a ruined edge of his scythe shattered on the ground. "Never."

He jumped up with inhuman speed and grabbed the edge driving it through the eye of his foul counterpart a sickening squelch as his eye and the puss that filled it popped. "I will endure."

He ripped it out tearing a chunk out of the daemon prince's head and the sent it through his neck "My death guard will endure you pathetic fool."

He looked around, the battle had not stalled around him and as the traitor's saw their prince destroyed by a mere mortal they began to run, not fast enough though as the remaining death guard cut them down. Mortarion raised his voice "WE ARE REDEEMED BROTHERS! THE WEAKNESS HAS BEEN PURGED! FOR THE IMPERIUM!"

A cheer rose up, and Mortarion allowed himself to smile... The coming weeks were arduous, the remains of the Daemonic Primarch was thrown into a boiling vat of silver then cooled and covered in the greatest wards possible before being put into a stasis field and thrown into the core of a dark planet only Mortarion knew the location of. His legion was broken, but they would endure and grow strong again and once more guard the weak from death.

Magnus revives the Emperor

So I sincerely believe that Magnus has the power to revive the Emperor. Hear me out before you go on about the Astronomicon and shit. Magnus IS a fantastic Psyker and so are the Thousand Sons (duh). So Magnus goes down to the Golden Throne with a few thousand warriors. Seeing his father's corpse-like body during his first return visit to Terra shook him to his very core. He knows that despite his power and the good intentions of his brothers, they need the Emperor now more than ever. For the first time in ten thousand years, times are changing. Mankind has a chance to turn the tide of chaos and once again retake the galaxy.

He approaches the Throne as his warriors rise through the Enumerations. Opening himself to the warp, he's nearly blinded by the light of the Astronomicon. Over the thousands of years the light has dimmed a bit, a very worrying development. He drops to his knees and places his hands through the stasis field, grabbing the Emperor's robe.

Days, weeks, months pass. His marines have been taking rotating shifts of 666 members of six choirs, communing with Magnus and fueling his efforts. The strain on these psychic warriors is immense, but their Primarch bears the brunt of the Chaotic onslaught attempting to prevent him from completing this most crucial task. The first two months are spent in preparation for the task ahead, his sons providing a bulwark of psychic energy while he completes the delicate rituals needed to call the energy needed to revitalize the Emperor. The next three are spent with his sons battling and purging the denizens of the warp and preventing daemons from possessing even one of the many warriors gathered. One month is spent channeling the warp, gathering enough energy for the final phase.

On the first day of the seventh month, the tipping point is reached. Magnus has not moved an inch, his sons out of rotation from the choir tend to the many wounds that have appeared on his body.

Throughout the entire ritual, the Custodes have kept watch on the Thousand Sons. They have trained on them their most devastating weapons that can be wielded so close to the Golden Throne. Their orders are clear. If at any moment they have even the slightest reason to believe the Emperor's well being to be in jeopardy they are to eliminate all members of the Thousand Sons and take their Primarch into custody.

Despite their best precautions, a few of the marines do succumb to the warp. Corruption soon appears and discord is sewn through the Choirs. The Thousand Sons have planned for this though. Each member of a choir has a watcher, a brother marine who stands vigil over his charge. The second any sign of corruption is detected, a bolt shell is put through the back of the corrupted marine's head. The longest outbreak of corruption recorded during this event was exactly thirty-five seconds long, the delay in granting the Emperor's Peace attributed to a jam in the watcher's bolt pistol. He was reprimanded and placed under censure, his punishment to be decided after his Primarch returns from the aether.

On the second day of the seventh month, the battle against the beings attempting to prevent the Emperor's resurrection has been won. After the tipping point was reached just a day before, an aura appeared around Lord Magnus. The Rites inscribed on his back began to glow, then burn. Golden flames licked the shimmering air around his body. His grasp on his Father's robe tightened. Sweat poured down his body in thick rivers, pooling beneath him.

The Choirs of Resurrection began to howl and the room's temperature dropped significantly. The Custodes surrounding the Thousand Sons began to shift and stir, the change in the Choirs and the Primarch proving to be highly unnerving to them. All members of the Thousand Sons joined in with the Choirs, lending their strength to their genefather.

A new light burned next to the Astronomicon. Not nearly as bright or powerful, but bright enough to be seen by Astropaths close to Terra. Thousand Sons began to burn out, slaving their life essence to the new beacon. Each marine who perished were witnessed to simply burst into gold and crimson fire which was drawn toward and into the trembling Magnus. In all, eight hundred and seventy three marines gave their lives.

The room was silent. Not even the constant background noise of the Golden Throne's quiet humming could be heard. Light began pouring into the room, the source was Magnus himself. For the first time in seven months he let go of his Father, tears of liquid fire streaming down his cheeks. Bright red wings of flame hung behind his back, his one eye, now open, shimmering and dancing with thousands of shades of colors.

"Thousands of years ago, the one who both is and is not me undid your greatest work. I turned on you, the one who gave me life, the most perfect being to stride the stars and delve the immaterium. The one who is both I and not I not only destroyed that work, but along with the other traitors attempted to destroy your Empire in the name of false gods. On that day thousands of years ago your most trusted son turned your body into a corpse. On this day thousands of years later, with the return of your sons, with the power you gave me, you, through me, restore this blessed body so that you may once again lead us against the enemies of man. We are your generals, we are your servants, we are your sons. From you came me, and now from me returns you."

With the words he needed to say finally said, Magnus turned his head to the sky, his mouth agape, his eye wide, and his hands raised in praise. White hot light poured forth and pooled around the Golden Throne, the chants of the Choirs reaching their climax. A mighty shout was raised, streaming out along with the light through Magnus' open mouth. The light pooled around the Throne appeared to be drawn up through the Emperor's feet, giving his body a steadily brightening golden glow.

None could look upon the Golden Throne, for the blazing inferno that raged around it seared the eyes of all who tried to gaze upon the wondrous sight. Magnus, his role now fulfilled, leaned wearily against a column as Ahriman rushed over with food and water. Magnus had not ate, drank, or slept for all these long months.

For five days Magnus slept and for five days the inferno of light engulfed the Golden Throne. On the fifth day the light began to die down and strange creaking noises could be heard from within the torrent. A loud burst like that of a thousand warriors teleporting to the surface of a planet with a particularly dense atmosphere rang out and a being of golden light descended the stairs toward Magnus.

All eyes were cast down, all bodies prostrated before the wondrous being of golden light before them. Any person even remotely in the path of the being scrambled to clear a path. Through this, Magnus slept, his chest rising and falling.

The figure who could only be the Emperor of Mankind knelt before his son and drank in the sight before him. What was once one of his most beautiful and regal creations was marred with bruises and lesions throughout his body, his aura flickering like a torch in a windstorm. Not even when his traitorous self flew from Prospero many years ago had he exerted so much strength, poured forth so much of himself into a psychic exertion. The Emperor lowered his hand and brushed away the bright crimson mane from Magnus' forehead. He extended one finger towards the center of his son's forehead and placed his other hand on his own chest.

Instantly the many bruises and lesions covering Magnus disappeared, his aura once again burning bright. Magnus' eye snapped open and with a sharp intake of breath he jerked his upper body vertical. For the first time in ten thousand years, Magnus looked into his Father's eyes.

Before he could say anything, The Emperor lifted one hand to the blank spot above his cheek where Magnus' eye once sat. When his hand was removed, his eye had returned. Tears rolled down the Crimson King's cheeks, the pain of the long months spent battling the forces of Chaos on their own turf evaporating in an instant.

For the first time in over ten thousand years, The Emperor of Mankind, the being most humans revered as a god, spoke:

"My son, I am here."

Reunion of the Primarchs before siege of Terra

The battlefleet has been forming for months. The size of it was incomparable to anything that Mankind has seen since the Emperor first ventured out in search of his stranded children. First were the Space Wolves, the massive grey battleships silently orbiting a small moon in the system of Fervent. The whole chapter was the quickest to act, as even after milennia had passed they were never broken down into various successor chapters as the other legions, and it was rumored that the famed 13th Company has been stationed onboard their flagship Ragnarok, after their return to Fenris in circumstances shrouded by mystery.

Next was the orderly and well-equipped detachment of the Ultramarines, their vessels joining their brethren in orbit of the rocky globe. In short notice their successor chapters began arriving, and it would be that every day a seemingly endless stream of reinforments from these countless chapters poured down into the solar system. Then came all the rest, every Emperor-loving soul, both Astartes and Imperial Navy alike, the corvettes, the cruisers, the carriers. There was a sense of agitation and eagerness in the crews, for it would be that after ten milennia of endless battle, bitter defeats and bloody victories, humankind had the upper hand once more. Along the miriad vessels which formed up around the moon of Fervent II, there was one ship which looked as insignificant as can be – a small, frail corvette, its hull painted white-and-black, which flew straight towards the Ragnarok, where the Primarchs that had already arrived have gathered. As it went, it looked as if it was swallowed by the bristling organism of the fleet, ships changing paths to make way for its precious cargo. It entered a docking bay on the side of the battleship, and sat down on the steel deck.

The hall was empty, save for a few servitors gathered around its edges, busy with maintenance duties, and a single Astartes, his grey armour scarred and battered, bearing memories of countless battles. His helmet was on, and it looked as if he was a part of the ship itself – so firmly he stood, waiting, with a power glaive in his arm. As the ship descended and opened its hatches, he watched as a tall, powerful figure emerged, followed by many other Astartes, guardsmen and naval security officers. He walked straight towards the waiting Grey Knight, with his helmet at his side, revealing the face of a Primarch – the one who led the betrayal, who began the Heresy – Horus.

The Grey Knight did not move an inch as Horus stopped in front of him, and silence fell. The Primarch broke it first, his powerful voice echoing in the hangar bay.

- Now I see how right they were, calling you the quiet one, my son – he said, staring into the visor of the helmet, with no trace of any emotion on his face.

The words rang, and for what seemed an eternity, nothing happened. The guardsmen froze, gaping at the scene and waiting for what was to happen in anticipation – and perhaps fright of such powerful beings. And then came the strangest thing – the laughter. The Knight began shaking as if in spasms, and took of his helmet, revealing a bustle of grey hair, a face strangely old – even though Astartes were beings practically immortal – and a pair of eyes that radiated joy.

- In truth, I came here to see for myself if the news were right, and to strike you down if need be. But look at me now – cheering like an initiate after his first victory, me – a veteran of old – he said, and looked Horus straight in the eye – for I can see taint where it lay, and I can say that there is none in you. And this feeling was worth waiting for milennias.

Horus nodded after hearing those words, yet he did not make a step yet. Instead he spoke.

- There was an old ritual, a tradition that was practiced in the old days that I was always fond of. Is there a man here willing to bear witness? - He turned, facing the people that have now gathered around them. From the crowd a man walked forth, his black, bleak uniform covering his body, and with a single, golden rosary pinned to his chest.

- Inquisitor Casimir Gaunt, my lord. - he said, gently bowing.

- Very well. Loken, do you still remember the words?

- As clear as day. - the Knight held out his glaive in one hand, as he handed a parchment to the Inquisitor to write down the words.

- I am here to hear you, and Inquisitor Gaunt is here to witness it. Do you, Horus, son of the Emperor, accept your role in this? Do you promise to lead your men into the zone of war, and conduct them to glory, no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe? Do you swear to lead the Legions once more in the name of the Emperor and mankind, to strike down the enemy and retake what was lost? Do you swear t stand true to his words and not succumb to the treachery of the taint? Do you swear not to waver in your resolution?

- On this matter and by this weapon, I swear. - Horus said. Though there were scores of men around them now, not a single word was uttered as the oath was taken, everyone engulfed in what was to become a historical moment.

- Kill for the living, father, and kill for the dead – Loken said, and he took the parchment now inscribed with this testament from the Inquisitor. He gave it to the Primarch, who attached it to the chest of his armour plate. As he did it, men cheered, and the scream was so loud Loken could have sworn it was heard in every single ship of the fleet. The Grey Knight thought to himself in amazement, how his Primarch did not change. In a simple way not only did he garner the support of every man under his command, bolstering the morale of those who would still doubt the reborn son of Emperor. He also gained back the trust of his former advisor, he who was prepared to use his glaive to kill the Warmaster if he noticed a sign of heresy. Millenias go, and nothing changes – here I am, once more the quiet one. Once more a Luna Wolf by heart.

- Let us go then, your brothers are ready at the strategum, sire – Loken said and went ahead, as if a herald bearing word of hope, as his Primarch walked to begin his Crusade anew.

The walked through the corridors of the Battleship, passing Astartes and guardsman alike, getting ready for the oncoming onslaught. They eventually arrived at the main cathedral of the battleship, its gigantic doors bearing the emblem of the grey wolf as big as a land raider. The doors opened with a loud wail, and revealed a massive archway leading to an altar – now remade into the heart of the strategum, covered with maps and parchments. Above it was displayed a sizeable image of Sol, slowly rotating, with small dots indicating confirmed hostile warships. At the edges dozens of vox comms wailed, as reports were pouring in.

At the head of the altar stood the host, clad in grey armour and with wolf hides around his pauldrons, his long hair hanging down as he looked down upon a data slate. To his right was Perturabo, his apparel immediately recognized by Horus. His siege warfare expertise would be most useful in the oncoming battle, and now he was briefing the other Primarchs about the basic strategy of the future siege of Terra, seconded by Dorn in his shining, yellow armour, both of them working in unison.

To the left of Russ they could see the Lion and Guilliman, engaged in a discussion, their gazes fixed upon the enemy fleet positions. Closest to the entrance, and with their backs turned to the entrance, stood three other Primarchs, one of whom wore what seemed like a dreadnought plate on his chest and shoulders, though at first Horus could not recognize who it was. Only he walked towards them, with Loken still by is side, could he see that one of them was in fact the most talented among the psykers – save for the Emperor himself – Magnus the Red, clad in a bright red-and-gold armour, his hands crossed as he watched the events in silence. To his left there stood a pair of his other brothers, both silent and grim. As he came close they turned to face him, and he recognized Corvus Corax in his unorthodox armour and Konrad Kurze, eerily alike in their stern expressions. Their gazes taxed him and judged him, as he approached the altar. The discussions stopped, and everyone fixed their eyes upon the Warmaster.

- Brothers. - Horus said, his voice confident and full of authority. Indeed even Loken could see, that though the sight of so many demigods gathering in a single place was awe-inspiring in itself and not for the faint of heart, Horus was something else entirely. It was as if every one of the leaders knew in their heart that it was him that was meant to lead this fight. - There is much to be said, but there is little time for that. Right now I need a briefing on the current situation, and – here he made a smirk as he looked at Corax's new garments – perhaps a quick explanation what is this heap of metal is doing here.

For a moment, Loken could've sworn that Corax was going to punch Horus straight in the face. Be it due his respect for the Warmaster, or due to his own sense of humour – that he did not know, but the first one to break the silence was the Raven Guard Primarch himself, who – oddly for him – began to laugh out loud. The atmosphere at the table changed, as all the rest of the brothers joined in, Russ' laughter as loud as a cannon's roar, and even Kurze allowed himself to smile a little.

Battle for Terra - Varynski's last charge

- Target the Spiteful, all starboard batteries – open fire! - the order rang out through voice comms from the command bridge of Ragnarok, and shortly after every available cannon spat out what was to be a deadly salvo of laser fire. The enemy cruiser burst into flames and trembled as its hull was shattered, the debris filling space between the two ships. It was no match for the flagship of the Space Wolves 1st Fleet, and soon went up in a bright explosion, which was shortly after extinguished by the vacuum of space.

At the strategum, now filled with red light as the whole fleet entered a full-scale battle with invading Chaos units , Grand Admiral Daniel Varynski was looking at the tactical appraisal of the current situation, his firm, clad in dark blue uniform silhouette surrounded by various officers of the Navy. A few metres behind him stood the Space Wolves 5th Captain, brother Anatolius, his bolter held in front of him, helmet by his side. The admiral took off his cap ran his fingers through his long, grey hair.

- Master Garth, have Jormugand and Odin follow us into this breach in formation pattern Mercury, keep it tight. With the destruction of the Spiteful we have an opening. Ready the batteries for full broadsides and have them hold their fire.

The first officer nodded and began transmitting through vox. The Chaos fleet that emerged from warp no more than a few hours ago was now engaged in a full-scale battle with the loyalist ships, and the engagement reached its climax. Their forces were spread thin, and through an opening in their formation the Ragnarok could make an attempt to break their force in two, turning the battle into an easy victory for the Imperial forces. The only thing of importance right now was momentum, and, Terra, Admiral Varynski would get his Emperor this victory.

- Full speed ahead!

He watched the tactical display above the strategum table, which indicated that the Cassini array was still defiant, broadcasting what seemed to be a litany to the Emperor on all external comms, flooding the Chaos fleet with Imperial chants. He chuckled.

- Have the 3rd squadron, the Justice and Fenris Defiant move in on our right flank. How much left before we're in range of enemy fire?

- Sir, two minutes before their battleships are in range.

- Very well. Brace for impact men, and don't forget that the Emperor protects. - Varynski uttered, as they went at full speed into the space between two enemy battleships, their cannons already fixing their aim on the Ragnarok. After a few moments, a devastating salvo fired from both of them, hitting the flagship's hull. The bridge trembled, and men fell to the ground.

- Status report! Now! - the first officer yelled, as he stood up.

- Sir, two hull breaches reported, and we lost starboard batteries two to four. Also hangar bay number 5 is gone.

- Seal the breached compartments, and send repair crews immediately. Now show them how we deal with heretics on Fenris. All batteries, take aim! - Varynski yelled, and his order was passed on through the officers at the strategum table. - Fire! - as he spoke those words there was a moment of chatter, and suddenly everyone could feel as the whole room trembled.

Every side battery fired and for a brief moment Ragnarok was surrounded with bright lasfire, as it tore through enemy hulls. The two capital ships to its sides wiggled as the impetous salvos hit their marks. The flagship did not wait to see the results, instead going at full throttle to separate the battle groups. In his wake the other two battleships followed, with gigantic statues of the Emperor shining at their bows as if empowered by his grace. The Black Crusade ships didn't get a chance to recover from the first strike, as both Jormugand and Odin unloaded a full broadside each, finishing the kills.

- Captain Anatolius, tell your men to be ready to board. We're going to engage in close combat with enemy forces now. - the admiral spoke, and the captain nodded, a rare event of an Astartes following orders from a simple naval officer. That being said, Varynski was the commanding officer of the whole fleet, and his authority was granted by Leman Russ himself. At that moment, it was as if the Primarch was behind the command.

- Launch the reserve fighters, have them clear the path for our squadron. Turn the ship starboard, have Jormugand and Odin follow our assault, with Justice and Fenris Defiant holding our former position. Let us unleash the Emperor's fury upon these wretched souls!

The first officer did not wait for his commander to even finish his orders as he began relaying through vox. The Ragnarok, though battered, began its lumbersome turn, leaving behind the ravaged wrecks of Chaos ships, with friendly units following him. From its hangar bays a myriad fighters emerged, immediately taking point ahead of their mothership, and taking course on the enemy screens that began to adjust their positions in anticipation of the Imperial manouver.

- Sir, new contacts! Five, ten, thirty – the comms officer suddenly stopped as he watched his screen get filled with various new signals – Sir, we have more than a hundred unidentified warp signatures, quadrant Mars-two-two-zero, emerging now!

- Identify those ships, now! Begin hailing them and demand compliance to the Imperium this very moment! - Varynski fought to get his orders through the chatter that filled the strategum – Silence! What do we know about these ships?

- Sir, some of them are stored in our memory-banks, pirate or rogue units. Most of them we have no record of. Sir – the second officer spoke – we don't know who they are.

- Keep reaching them and focus on the matter at hand. Give our fighters support fire from bow batteries, and keep our formation with Jormugand and Odin. This is our chance, men!

- Aye, sir! – multiple voices responded, as the bridge staff took to their duties.

Officer Garth walked to the admiral's side and hushed.

- Sir, if I may, we should consider altering our formation in case these units prove hostile. We might get caught up between two enemy formations, sir.

- Objection received and noted, master Garth. But this is our chance – here Varynski pointed to the tactical display – If we get the enemy flank routed, we can rebuild our right wing and form up defensive positions, with half the enemy fleet gone. We cannot let this chance slip away.

- Sir! I have a response, sir! - second officer shouted in agitation as he continued on – Sir, they're Imperial! They're transmitting old codes, sir, milennias old, but they're definitely Imperial!

- Who in the name of Terra is leading them? – the admiral spoke as if asking himself. - Master Garth, you have the bridge. - As he said, the officers responded and saluted, watching him walk to a vox station. The aged admiral put his hand upon the operating officer's shoulder – Son, patch me through to the unit responding our hail. Demand to speak with their commanding officer.

- Aye, sir.

Tense moments passed as Varynski listened to his subordinate patch through to the new formation. Eventually he handed his headset to the admiral, nodding.

- This is Grand Admiral Daniel Varynski, commanding officer of the 1st Fenris Fleet and acting commander of the Ragnarok, state your purpose and identify yourself!

- This is the commanding officer of Keshig, captain Ogedei Berke, and acting commander of the fleet. Our vessel carries White Scars' Primarch, Jagathai Khan. We bring aid to your units. Do not – I repeat – do not open fire, we are friendly. - the vox headset rang, and Varynski nearly froze as he heard those words.

- Confirm the presence of Jagathai Khan, Keshig.

- Message confirmed, we have the Khan onboard. It's good to be home, sir.

The admiral couldn't help but allow himself to grin. By the Emperor, the tides have finally turned. He walked back to the strategum, making his way through a crowd of bridge officers.

- Have the Khan's fleet join us in formation pattern Ardentium – it's old, they should recognize it – and aid us in a pincer attack. Broadcast to the Cassini Array, have them provide fire support on the enemy vessels on the right flank. This is what we've been waiting for, what humanity has been waiting for, men! This is our moment of glory! - As he said these words, the officers around him cheered. The old admiral seemed as if invigorated with youth, his gaze eager to engage the task at hand. He was born to lead his men in this very battle, now he knew that for certain. He watched as the display showed the Khan's ships join up and wreak havoc among the rear Chaos ships, and witnessed the whole flank crumble under relentless assault.

The Ragnarok has forgone broadsides in favour of continous fire, targeting multiple ships as it aimed at doing as much damage as possible and sowing confusion in the enemy ranks. And when all seemed to go as it had been planned, a new message came through.

- Admiral, we have new warp signatures, quadrant Mars-two-three, they're emerging now!

- Give me tactical display. Are those Khan units?

- Sir, we recognize the signatures. They're Dark Eldar vessels!

All the officers at the strategum watched as display got filled with small red dots, each one – an enemy ship emerging from warp behind the Khan's fleet in what seemed to be a pursuit. Ten, twenty, fifty, so many that Varynski eventually stopped taking count, as the dots formed a chaotic and irregular formation. They were extremely fast, and were heading at full speed in their direction. He saw one ship in particular, designated Delta Echo One, that looked as if it was keeping at the rear of the formation, despite it's monstrous size. That would very well be the flagship of the Dark Eldar, the race ever-hesitant to risk their lives in vain.

- How long before they reach Khan's fleet?

- Sir, about thirty minutes. Khan won't make it in time.

Indeed, as the display zoomed out they could see the situation clearly. Closest to Mars, where the Imperial Battlefleet had drawn the line, was the main battle, with units fighting among asteroids and in the vast vacuum of space around the planet and its moons. Then, there was a good few dozen, close to a hundred small ships, a ragtag band of rogues and pirates brought together in some mysterious way by the Khan to aid Terra. And then the powerful Dark Eldar fleet, its size such that it could very well turn the tide of the battle. If they strike now, Varynski thought, the whole right flank of the Imperium would crumble, and with it – the whole formation, as most ships were now engaged in close range fights.

However, if Ragnarok could delay the Dark Eldar somehow long enough for the right flank to rout the Chaos forces completely, they would stand a chance. Not a big one, but that was at least something to work with. For some reason, the elderly admiral reminded himself of his old mentor, back from his cadet days.

---

- Engage thrusters, Daniel, slowly. Just like in the simulator. That's right. - he heard the calm voice of Chief Instructor Toivonen guiding him, as their vessel lifted off the ground. It was an unarmed, training ship, fairly agile and fast, designed to test the abilities of a pilot as he was given a very sensitive unit to handle. Terra, Daniel would show them how it's done. He'd spent hundreds of hours in the simulators, and by now he could've done it with his eyes shut. - Now there, don't be cocky, cadet. We still haven't reached the orbit. - the instructor said through vox, as he saw the confidence of the young pilot. It didn't change the fact that he smiled as he was saying those words, happy he wasn't there for his student to see him.

- Aye, sir.

The ship went higher and higher, above the spires of the port authorities, above the highest houses of the nobility, and then – into the vacuum of space around the planet of Tars, a system located a few light years from Fenris, an important world on the ever-busy route to Cadia. Through the glass of the cockpit's visors Daniel could see his instructors ship, the same class as his own, rise up next to him.

- Allright, let's do this nice and easy then. We have two rounds around Tars II to do, and after that manouvering through Tars III asteroid fields. Cadet Varynski, commence training exercise.

- Roger that. Moving to two thirds sublight speed.

The pair of ships began their flight around the planet, with the cadet's ship performing various manouvers around the artificial sattelites and through traffic routes as per the training's schedule. After a good few hours, they found themselves en route to the rocky belt surrounding the star of Tars, near Tars' III orbit. All was going well, until the scanner picked up a strange warp signature.

- Sir, flight Echo One Nine, reporting unidentified warp signatures in quadrant Tars-four-one-five, relaying data now.

Toivonen raised his brow as he watched the information pour in. By now his sensors also received the signal. Weird, he thought, there was nothing scheduled here from Cadia today.

- Ignore that cadet, focus on the task at hand. I'll analyze the new data.

- Aye, sir.

And so they kept their course, as they went closer to the signatures' point of origin. By now they were close enough for the training ship equipment to properly assess the data. When he saw the feed, Toivonen went pale.

- Cadet Varynski, form up on me, pattern Jupiter five, and do not stray.

Daniel did as he was ordered to, though reluctantly. What was going on? Was it that weird signal? He fought with himself, but eventually he disregarded his order and began to run analisation sequences on the few ships that entered the system. By now they were nearly at the asteroid belt, and a few of the signatures separated from the main group of about five. It seemed that some light ships, possibly fighters were heading their way, with ETA at about ten minutes. He realised he'd began sweating now.

- Cadet Varynski, I need you to plot a course for comms array Epsilon right now and head there at full throttle. Have them contact Tars Primary and Fenris. Tell them that we have hostiles inbound for Tars Primary. - the rest of the transmission he did not hear properly.

- Sir, repeat your last order.

- I repeat, Cadet Varynski, make haste for comms array Epsilon, now! Tell them that we have Chaos ships inbound to Tars Primary! Get a warp-ready ship and make at full speed for Fenris! Get help goddamnit!

- Sir, what about you?

- I'll provide cover from those fighters that are inbound.

Varynski looked at the screens. The training ships were unarmed. It was madness. Chaos ships came from the direction of Cadia. Terra allmighty! They passed the blockade! It was a splinter from the Black Crusade! By now he realised what was going on. Tars' Primary sensor arrays were on the far side of the planet right now. Before they get past the shadow of the globe, it will be too late. The ships will begin their assault before they even get a warning. But if they made it in time to Epsilon...

- Sir, I advise you follow me and we both head for Epsilon. You will die there, captain!

- Their fighters are too fast. Besides, I shouldn't hog all the glory. Toivonen out, and may the Emperor watch over you.

He watched as the instructors' ship changed course to intercept the fighters, and engage them in a horribly one-sided dogfight among the asteroids of Tars III. He would die there, for sure. But he might just get them focused enough that they forget about the single training ship that will sound the alarm.

He knew Toivonen had made his choice, and it was up to him if his sacrifice would be in vain. He pushed the throttle to its maximum and his craft began its journey towards one of the stations around Tars III's moon. He watched as his radar showed five Chaos fighters engage and pursue the single, defiant green dot that danced its way through the rocky path. Explosions, quickly vanishing in the vacuum, burst as their laser fire tore through the asteroids. Now it was too late to change what they've done.

It took a good few minutes before the array was visible, with his instructor's ship long gone from his scanners, too far to see. He hoped he would make it. He knew he could not. He began hailing.

- Epsilon array, this is flight Echo One Nine, requestion clearence to dock. I repeat, Epsilon array, this is flight Echo One Nine, requestion clearance to dock. This is an emergency. Open the hangars! - he could hear the panic in his own voice as he voxed through.

- Echo One Nine, this is Epsilon array. You are not scheduled for docking. State your business.

- Epsilon array, this is Echo One Nine, open those hangar doors or I'll ram my ship in them! We have Chaos ships in the system inbound for Tars Primary!

- Wait a moment, we need to check your information. - the painfully cold voice voxed, and now all that was left was static. Goddamn fleet bureaucracy! There is no time for that now, Daniel thought.

- Clearance granted, hangar bay two opening up now. Follow docking procedures.

- Roger that Epsilon array, Echo One Nine commencing docking now.

If there ever was an ideal docking, it was done now. He didn't even slow down as he made at full speed for the bay, using his reverse thrusters to put the ship to an abrupt halt as he flew in, smouldering parts of the station's hull as he entered. There is no time, there is no time, he uttered to himself. The hatch opened and Daniel jumped out and ran through the hangar, ignoring the alarmed shouts he heard from hangar personnel. He burst through the corridors and went directly to the command room, almost knocking down a few naval security officers as he ran.

- Relay the information to Tars Primary! We have a small Chaos unit inbound for the planet, coming from the direction of Cadia! - he yelled towards the commanding officer at one of the stations. The array was a small outpost and there was hardly any crew in the room. - I'm under orders from Captain Toivonen of 5th Stormbolts to secure and command a warp-ready vessel, and get you to send distress calls to whoever can answer.

The commanding officer looked at him as if he did not understand what he just said. Daniel cursed under his nose and just went up to one of the comms officers.

- Give me Tars Primary, now!

- Sir, what are you- the commanding officer began and froze, as Daniel simply reached out for his gun and pointed it at him.

- I am no commissar, officer, but as a fleet cadet I am of senior rank here, and I will lay down His wrath on anyone who dares defy His work. Now give me that fucking connection!

The comms officer did as he was told to, and soon Varynski was done. All was in the hands of the good souls on Tars Primary now. They did not have much time, but at least they could shelter some of the hive cities' population by the time bombardment begins.

- Now get me my ship and an astropath.

It took months to fight off the incursion. He made it to Fenris, almost killing the Epsilon array's commanding officer in a fit of rage in the process. He warned the fleet there and soon an expedition was on its way to liberate the distressed system. Captain Toivonen's shipwreck was found days later, among debris from two of the Chaos fighters that could not match his piloting skills and crashed into the asteroids of Tars III. Toivonen had no guns, and still managed to save countless lives. For their achievements, Daniel was awarded command over his own ship and began his career as a high ranking officer of the fleet, with personal recognition from the Astartes chapter. Posthumously, Toivonen was raised to admiralty, and awarded a Macharian Cross.

---

Now it was different. He wasn't unarmed like Toivonen. He had the fleet's mightiest ship under his command, and he knew what needed to be done.

- Master Garth, get me vox comms to all friendly units in our vicinity, and reach out to Khan's ships. I have something to say.

- Aye, sir.

After a few moments, he was ready.

- This is Grand Admiral Daniel Varynski of 1st Fenris Fleet and acting commander of the Ragnarok. To any and all who can hear me, we have a new situation on our hands. We have a sizeable Dark Eldar fleet inbound, pursuing vessels of our beloved Emperor's son, the Khan. The Ragnarok will engage that fleet and delay their arrival for as long as it is able to, securing a safe passage for our allies and buying us time to completely rout the Chaos forces on our flank. I hereby transfer command of the 1st Fleet to Admiral Sofon onboard the Jormugand. Any ship willing to aid us in this task is welcome to do so, though chances of success are slim. Good hunting men, and may the Emperor have mercy on us all.

As the words rang out, the whole strategum went silent, everyone staring at their Admiral. The Astartes captain Anatolius walked forth, and stopped at the strategum table. The Admiral spoke once again.

- Have the crew man any fighters, thunderhawks and escape pods they can. Transfer batteries command to my station. Brother Anatolius, have your men off this ship. We're not going back from this one.

- Admiral Varynski – the Astartes captain spoke for the first time during the battle, his voice calm – I am born to fight, not to run. We will stand with you.

The fleet commander gazed at the people around him. Every man in the chamber was now standing, looking at their leader. Not one of them deserted his post and it wasn't looking like anyone was planning to. Varynski felt proud to be the leader of those brave soldiers, and proud to be human. The eyes of his subordinates were full of defiance, of courage, the look that he thought Captain – no, Admiral Toivonen had when he sacrificed himself for the good of the Imperium. The first officer broke the silence, and handed a vox communicator to the Admiral.

- Sir, this is for you.

Daniel grabbed the vox comm and spoke.

- Strategum, over.

- Admiral, this is Chief Mechanic Sareth. Forgive me for speaking bluntly, sir, but I think I speak for all of my men when I say that if you think we're leaving you now you're much dumber than I thought. Sir. - Varynski could hear a distant cough and almost see the tense faces of the men gathered in the engine room, as his officer began to understand that what he just said could easily end in a martial court in normal circumstances. He smiled.

- Objection noted, Chief. - he said, as he looked up upon the display ahead of him.

- Allright men, show is over. Let's see what this beauty can do, shall we? Turn her about Master Garth, and give me as much speed as we can get. Ready the fore batteries!

The Ragnarok took a slow turn, as it raced to face the Dark Eldar vessels already on their way to intercept Khan's fleet. Its giant and majestic hull danced through the enemy formation, never ceasing to continously pummel the surrounding enemy ships, now scattering in panic. A small corvette of the Chaos fleet didn't anticipate the Imperial ship's manouver in time, and simply blew up as it crashed its miniscule form on the starboard of the monstrous flagship. To his surprise, Varynski could see the display showing multiple friendly units forming up in an offensive Scythe pattern ahead of the Ragnarok, with multiple ships changing their course to follow in their wake, including Fenris Defiant and Odin, two sizeable battleships.

- Grand Admiral, this is Commodore Ulther of the battleship Odin – the vox chattered – we'll be proud to be of aid.

- Rangarok, Foxtrot Wing is glad to provide fighter cover, over.

Similar reports kept pouring in as the ships nearest to their flagship heeded the call and formed up around it. Most of the fleet, however, kept formation, hurrying to finish up the fight on their flank and get ready to repel the new threat, with Jormugand engaging in what seemed to be a boarding operation with the enemy command ship.

The ragtag fleet of pirates and rogues under Khans's leadership flew past the makeshift defence fleet, hurrying to join their compatriots. The enemy fighters were already beginning to fire at straggling units, as they closed in on marauders.

- Fore batteries, provide covering fire for the Khan. Fire at will! - the first officer shouted over the strategum table, and shortly after lasfire and projectiles created a monstrous barrage in front of the ship, blowing up a sizeable chunk of the enemy fighter formations. They spread out, and that was to be their demise as Foxtrot Wing jumped in on them, flying in formation as if on a parade, and killing what was left. Still ahead of them loomed the whole fleet though, with the enemy flagship designated Delta Echo One beside the first waves of cruisers.

- Rudder five degrees to starboard, take course to intercept target Delta Echo One, have fore batteries make us a path and hold your fire on port batteries! - Grand Admiral ordered, and the ship adjusted its bearing slightly. First enemy vessels were getting in range and a carpet of lasfire opened up between the two sides, as they closed in.

Varynski remembered his years back in the officer school. Dark Eldar are best beat when forced with overwhelming odds, and if he could make it look like their very lives were in danger, he could force the enemy commander to retreat, leaving his fleet to its doom.

- Captain Anatolius, have you men get ready to board Delta Echo One, if we can't take it down by force, we'll take it from them with the help of your battle brothers. - he spoke to the colossus next to him.

- I'll lead the charge myself. - Anatolius said, as he began to walk out, headed towards the hangar bays. - It's been a pleasure, Admiral.

- Likewise.

Links

Archive of first thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/30718552/

Archive of the second thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/30789099/ - http://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/30789099/

Archive of the third thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/30851860/