Editing Trip Into Hell (Warhammer High) (section)

==Part Three: Liberation==
===Salvation from the Stars===
The Klaxon howled throughout the ship, its hollow echo reverberating throughout the bridge as the massed fleet of warships and troopships emerged from the seething tempest of the immaterium in a blaze of energy. Plasmic wisps from the Warp continued to linger around the ships as they sped forth into material space.

Sitting on his command throne, he listened as reports came in from the other ships in his fleet, ensuring no ships were lost or scattered. A ship was at its most vulnerable in the moments immediately after re-entering normal space, when its power levels were still in flux and the energy burst of its warp exit broadcast its existence and position to any other vessel in the system. Entry was also critical to a battle, too close and you were likely to be destroyed before you could return fire, too far and you gave the enemy ample time to prepare for your arrival and lost the ever-critical element of surprise. He had always been a master of tactics.

His ship was the Ullanor, an Emperor-Class Command-Carrier Battleship which had once been the flagship of the famous Lord Commander Gustav Von Vitterriecvht, commander of the legendary forty-thirty-forth Imperial Army. Though the Lord Commander, who had fought in the entire crusade from beginning to end, had died many years ago his legacy of conquest lived on in the Ullanor, and the commander knew this.

Cruising beside his flagship was a battleship which surpassed even the Ullanor, with a prow sheathed in dark ocean green. It moved as a dagger might in the hand of an assassin, slow but inescapable, inexorable. Unlike most Imperial warships, all gaudily decorated, it bore only two decorations: a golden spread eagle with two heads across the face of the flying bridge and a great icon made of heavy nickel-iron ore, a single stone skull set inside a hollow steel ring in the shape of a star, at the very tip of the prow, watchful and threatening. The Endurance, Flagship of the XIV Legion.

Behind her came more of her kind, Legion ships ranging in class, size and colour both larger and smaller: the Indomitable Will, Barbarus’s Sting, Gotthammar, Sanctity of Saramanth, Epsilon, Spear of Sedros, Benthos, Shield of Sanguinius, Iron Tide and more, and this was excluding the regular naval vessels like the Ullanor. Ships from no fewer than twelve of the Astartes Legions were present; a total of fifty ships all up. A combined fleet like this hadn’t been gathered since the Crusade had ended.

“My Lord, the fleet has arrived in-system without mishap. All ships are accounted for. ETA to Seadelant, twenty-five minutes.” The aide nervously told to the figure on the throne as he checked a dataslate to ensure there had been no mishaps in translation. The last thing they needed were literal ghosts in the machine caused by warp entities.

“Very good. Very good indeed, we arrived in precisely the right place. Have the Astropaths attempt to establish contact with the surface immediately, and patch me through to the Endurance. Our Lord will want to be informed.” The man rose from his throne, unplugging several implants as he did so and strode down the steps of his throne towards the data-projector. He tapped a few buttons to bring up a series of tactical projections, and then turned to face an as yet unarrived presence.

There was flickering crackle of energy and Lord Mortarion of the Death Guard towered before him, his presence undiminished even though he was an electronic ethereal figure. His image faded in and out of focus, occasionally dividing in the bizarre mitosis of distance distortion. He lowered the blade of his Manreaper scythe in greeting, which was in itself a warmer hail than the man had been expecting. Several seconds later, the figure of Ezekyle Abaddon, first Captain of the Sons of Horus materialised beside Mortarion and a split second later was joined by Phosis T’kar of the Thousand Sons and Zichar Ir'Sem of the Salamanders. Such hallowed company would bend most people in awe, but this man wasn’t most people. He nodded his head briefly and then cut straight to the point.

“My Lord Primarch, my Lord Captains, the fleet has arrived in full and is preparing for attack pattern Zulu even as we speak. Long ranged scanners are probing the enemy for tactical data, and our astropaths are trying to raise the surface and see who remains there. All is present and correct, and the fleet stands ready. What are your orders?”

“Admiral Kulenka, your entry has been most satisfactory.” Mortarion rasped. “Once again you prove yourself as the best commander in Battlefleet Solar.”

“My Lord Primarch is generous. Have you seen my tactical calculations?”

“We all have.” That was Abaddon. “As thorough as always. We see no need for you to modify your plans; you know exactly what you are doing.”

“My Lord, before we commence operations, I must ask you about the chain of command. Will you leave to lead the ground elements, or will you stay and command from the Endurance?”
“Admiral, I shall be commanding the ground effort in person, so you will be in full command of the space battle. All Legion ships will obey your orders as if you were the Warmaster himself.”

Kulenka blinked, the simple act concealing a flurry of emotions. It was extremely rare for a navy commander of any rank to be given command of Legion vessels; in fact it hadn’t happened since the Crusade had ended. He nodded, his mind racing about how the various Legion ships, in particular the Gotthammar from the VI Legion and the Thunderer from the XII Legion, would take a regular human commanding them.

Kulenka had one more point to make. “I must remind my Lord, we are now within the range of the Hulk’s Psy-ECM. We will have no way of communicating with Terra or anywhere else until the Hulk is destroyed.”

“Then destroy it Admiral. You are known as the best at Hulk busting, there are four killed Hulks to your name. We all have full faith in your abilities.” The figures cut out.
Kulenka made a few more checks, before returning to his throne. As he plugged himself back in, he was reminded of the weight of responsibility now resting on his shoulders. He’d occasionally commanded a single legion ship of two during joint actions, but never this many. Never from this many legions. But he was Kulenka. Cold and calculating Kulenka, the star of Battlefleet Solar. If anyone could pull this off, it would be him.

“Send this message to the fleet. Load all weapons and Torpedoes, and ensure all fighters and bombers are fuelled and ready to fly. The Hulk dies today. Ave Imperator!”

===Time for the Truth===
Julius could barely keep up with Professor Ahriman as he powered his way towards the PDF command centre. He knew Ahriman was an Astartes, a warrior first and foremost, and he thought he understood what that was like after seeing him in action in the Petitioner’s City, but he had been proven wrong. In battle, Ahriman was an angel of death, barely human at all. The way he’d stood there before them all in front of the Mole, like he was mere milliseconds away from slaughtering them gave Julius the chills. He now saw the former Warp Studies teacher in an entirely new light.

He led them to the pyramid-like PDF Command Centre, and once inside he directed them to a large communal sleeping chamber with multiple bunk beds and an attached shower. “Wait here. I will see you all once I’ve spoken with the Liberation fleet, been appraised of the details. There are changes of clothes in the closet and a shower, so clean yourselves up.” His helmet lingered over Julius, who knew what it meant: tell them the truth. As if he needed another reason to feel guilty.

Julius listened to the sound of Ahriman’s boots crashing on the polished floor as he walked off, and then turned to face his fellows. Scvott looked disappointed, Dyllion had his trademark scowl, and Flynn looked sad. But Summer though, she looked hurt, and that hurt Julius most of all. He had wanted not to hurt her, and now that was inevitable.
“I think we should all get clean first, and then I will give you the truth.” He managed to say, and they nodded, though not at him.

He took first turn; the others would want to be alone for a while to discuss what they would do. He turned the knob stood under the downpour, letting the water wash over him like a baptismal. He only wished he could wash his soul clean as easily. At his feet the water was a muddy brown, he hadn’t realised how filthy he really was after so many weeks. The spare clothes were the grey and white of Administratum menials, but after weeks of nothing but that bodyglove, even these coarse and rough garments felt like bliss.

He left, and straightaway Scvott pushed past him to take his turn. Julius shuffled over to one of the beds, and heavily sat down on it, not looking at anyone. He stayed there as the others took their turns, not saying a single word. Finally with a muted cough, he turned to see the others all standing behind him dressed in the same garments he was in, their looks demanding answers. With the weeks of accumulated grime all washed off they looked normal again, Summer in particular looked positively radiant but for the hurt look in her hazel eyes.

Julius took a deep breath. This was it. No more lies, no more secrets. “The cat’s out of the bag. I’ve lied to you all since the very moment I first met you all. I didn’t know any of you then, but I do now, and I have hated myself for lying to you. Well that stops right here, right now. My name is not Oll, as you’ve no doubt guessed. It’s Julius. Julius Pius.”

He let it sink in, and Scvott was the first to respond. “Julius…Pius? Does that mean…”

“Yes.”

The effect was immediate. They all backed away from him, even Summer. Wearily he gestured to them. “Bloody hell, you’re better than that. I’m the same bloody person who fought with you these last thirty days. Nothing has changed. Nothing.”

They reversed their steps, but now they were treating him differently, like he was on a pedestal high above them. He had always known that this would be how they would treat him if they found out, and he hated that.

“That means you’re from Terra, you weren’t just visiting it.” Summer stated flatly.

“My birth certificate has me as a native of Calth, but I’ve lived on Terra since I was two. Until recently, I attended Imperator High there. That’s why I called Ahriman professor, he taught Warp Studies there. What I said about Terra before, all that is true. Terra is a paradox, on the one hand the symbol of the new Imperium, on the other a place of sharp divides between the haves and the have nots. And there are no seas, no forests, just different shades of black, grey and brown. Your planet is more beautiful by far, and I would rather live here than on Terra any day.”

"What the hell are you doing on Seadelant?"

“I spoke the truth before; I was on my way to Calth. Not because I live there, but because that’s where my mother lies. She died shortly after I arrived on Terra, and dad took her ashes back to Calth to be buried. I stayed with Lord and Lady Guilliman while he was gone.”
He almost regretted saying that when he saw the looks on their faces. He was brutally reminded how different his former life was to theirs. He had been brought up alongside the best and brightest, and had known all the Primarchs since he was small. No-one else could lay claim to that, yet here it was more of a curse than a blessing.

“So, the shooting on Terra, you weren’t just there, you were involved with it?” Flynn blurted out.

“Yes, to my eternal shame, yes. Surely you all know what happened to me, the news travelled fast from Terra. Lady Morticia, she’s like a sister to me, all of them are. I took her shooting hard. We all did. We all coped in different ways, some worse than others.” Rem. whenever he thought of the shooting and its casualties, it always came down to her. It was for her he had sought the answers that he hoped would soothe her wounded soul, answers that simply got him into even worse trouble and solved nothing. “I wanted answers, real ones, and so I took the direct approach and sought those answers myself. And thanks to that, I was nearly killed. We were nearly killed.”

He had finally addressed the Valuphant in the room, the thing which affected him, and by extension Summer, the most. Dyllion was the first to openly state it.

"You're really dating Isis Lupercal? Summer, I hate to say it but you are fucked."
She threw a withering glare at him, but Dyllion was right. Her father Horus was well known for his temper when his blood is up, and Julius knew very well she had inherited that. He had no idea how she would take what had happened to him, or if she would understand the strains and stresses which had led him to make that fateful decision, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone else to have to suffer for his mistakes, least of all Summer.
The others caught his expression, and Scvott cleared his throat. “We, um, we are going to leave you two in peace. You obviously need to discuss a few things. Come with me guys.” They hastily shuffled off and vanished into the shower, leaving Julius and Summer alone. She broke the silence first.

“The girlfriend you were talking about…that was Lady Lupercal?”

“Yes. What I said about her? That was the truth, every last word of it.” he held his head in his hands, took a deep breath. “Living with them, hell, dating one of them can be a bloody nightmare at times. I said I love her, and I do. But now I’ve come to love you as well, and I don’t know what to do about it. Hell, I’m a seventeen year old caught up in something beyond my control, and I feel so helpless.”

She came closer, and sat opposite him, but no closer. Finally the last thing left unaddressed, the biggest thing to her.

“You know Him. You’ve met Him. All this time, and you’ve never told me.” Her words hit him like bullets, stinging of mistrust and wariness. How could he earn that back? By telling the truth, no matter how harsh.

“Summer, how can I put this? How can I tell you about your God? He is the scariest figure I have ever met. He may well be a god, but He is a harsh and vengeful one when He wants to be. There is ruthless ambition and a molten core of violence at the Emperor’s heart, and if He wants something, nothing will stop Him from getting it. His chastisement for what I did in the Petitioner’s city was the worst experience that has ever happened to me, and that includes everything that has happened here. Fighting Orks is one thing, being verbally beaten down by the Emperor something else.” He couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice now, the feeling of utter powerlessness he had felt as the Emperor had pronounced judgement, feeling the awful finality of every word. “Honestly, I wish never to set eyes on Him again, to spend the rest of my life never having to see His fury. None of this is what you want to hear, but I trust you, more than I trust myself.”

He took a deep breath, hoping to curb the tide of bad feels coming from within him.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do when all this is over, my life is a mess. I thought I knew where my life was going to go, the path I had laid out for myself. Four years at the Imperial War Academy, followed by the Imperial Army. The Geno, or the Janizars, one of the Old Hundred regiments. My father was a common soldier, but he wanted me to be more. But I’ve seen the real face of battle, and I don’t know if I can handle it again. I’ve been thrust into this life prematurely. My best friend Andrew, Lady Khan’s boyfriend also has a Military career in mind but he wants to become a Warrant Officer, so not frontline. But for me, frontline is in the blood. Surely you know the saying, ‘to do a Pius’.”

She nodded. To do a Pius, army and navy slang for performing an insane feat of heroics, which either got you a medal, or got you killed. Back on Terra, he had been sick and tired of people pointing it out to him.

“But now I don’t know if I can go through with it. I want to live up to my father’s name, but can I face this again? Can I go out there, fight, kill and watch my men and my friends die around me? Can I face that?”

“Julius.” She said, wrapping her tongue round the unfamiliar name. “Two days ago, I told you that you are the bravest man I have ever met. That hasn’t changed. If anyone can overcome what we have experienced since the Sky ran red with foes, it is you. You joined the CDA to help us on this planet fight our foes. You could have fled with the rest of the offworlders, but you didn’t, you stayed and fought beside us. I can’t imagine anyone making a better officer and a leader than you. Don’t worry about what will happen to us after this war is over, it doesn’t matter who you’re dating. If she feels even half of what I feel for you, she will forgive you this one misstep. And don’t worry about me either, despite what you’ve said, the Emperor Protects, and he will protect me if his granddaughter decides to come after me. Being honest, I’m surprised you were able to keep to your vows while dating Lady Lupercal. From what I’ve seen, she’s incredibly attractive. She could make me bat for the other team.”
Julius could barely hide a smile at her words, and she came over, sat down beside him and wrapped her arms around him.

“It’s alright; you guys can come out now.” She called. The shower door opened and the others trooped out. Julius broke from Summer’s embrace, stood up and turned to face them.

“Look all of you. I’m the same bastard you beat at arm wrestling Dyllion, you taught how to strip a gearbox Flynn, you gave sage advice to after he recklessly risked his life Scvott. I didn’t tell you who I was so I could avoid all this, and I’m telling you now, don’t treat me any different because my father was some war hero and I happened to learn alongside the royal daughters.”

Julius opened his mouth to say more, but Summer cut in. “He’s not the only one with a secret. I’ve never told you who I am either. Lantsfalle. Summer Lantsfalle.”

Now it was her turn to be stared at in shock. Dyllion was the first one to speak. “You mean, the Lantsfalles who want to demolish half the city to install those Tsiolkovsky towers? Those rich bastards who have bled half the segmentum with their financial dickery and trade exploitation?” now they were staring at her with distaste. Julius reached over for her, but she shrugged him off and replied. “Yes, and they are bastards. They have no ethics and no morals either. They disowned me; cast me out because of something I did, which had nothing to do with them. To them, I’m already dead.” She didn’t go into specifics, but their attitudes immediately mellowed.

“I can tell you some stories of life on Terra if you’d like.” Julius added.

The others all clustered around him, and Julius launched into the story of the time Lady Furia lost her cool and because of it changed her attitude…

===Tales of the Daughters===
After finishing the story of Lady Furia with how she was now going to college with Isis, a shocking change if ever there was one, Flynn asked the inevitable question: the shooting. Though it was one topic Julius had been hoping to avoid, he duly obliged, telling them how he had heard of the shooting on the hoverbus omitting that he was returning from religious services at the time, and now he was talking about the meeting they had after visiting Morticia after she had regained consciousness in the bar within the Imperial Palace. He was constantly getting interrupted, but he kind of liked answering all their questions. It hit him that this was the first time he had ever talked about his life on Terra to anyone outside of his immediate circle, to anyone who hadn’t been there with him.

“So anyway, I was talking with Andrew about enlistment…”

“Who?” Flynn interrupted. It was always either Flynn or Scvott. Dyllion was as silent as always, and Summer wore a smile as she sat beside him, keeping him company as he spoke.

“Andrew Hanover. He’s Lady Hana’s companion and my closest and dearest friend outside the daughters. The first time I met him he pestered me endlessly for my father’s autograph and damn near drove me up the wall. My father was and remains his childhood hero and icon. “We became fast friends after that first misunderstanding, did almost everything together. My first date with Isis was a double date with him and Hana. We signed up together after graduation, he’s going into the Terran Praetors while I’m going to the Imperial Military Academy for four years, and coming out a fully fledged officer ready to serve the Imperium.

“What about the other boyfriends? How do you see them?” Scvott asked.

“I’m not close to all of them, as true friends I count only Andrew and Jake Seager. Before you ask, Jake is with Lady Venus and there are few people who are more honest or trustworthy than him. I respect him highly, and hope that he and Lady Venus find happiness together. As for the others, I try to remain on good terms with them. To be honest, some of them see me the same way they see my father and treat me as such. Dad never wanted to be held up as a hero, he’s said many times the real heroes are the ones who never came back, but the people needed a human hero as the crusade dragged on, and it turned out to be him.” Julius sighed. He knew how much his father disliked the way he had been placed upon a pedestal, and when they acted the same way around Julius, he got really mad. “Now, where was I…?”

“Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve grown up alongside them, the Daughters I mean. You are the only person outside the Imperial family who knows them intimately. What are they like, really?” That, surprisingly enough, was Summer. He could sense the hidden meaning in her words; she wanted to know the truth about them. She had a hunger for the truth about those she venerated, even when that truth was not what she’d expected or sometimes wanted.
It was amazing how quickly his story had been sidetracked, but Julius was fine with that. He didn’t really want to tell them about the Petitioner’s City anyway, that was a memory that was still too raw.

“You really want to know? Fine. Isis and Furia I’ve already told you about. Lady Roberta, Lord Guilliman’s daughter is my closest friend amongst the daughters; we’ve known each other ever since I first came to Terra as a toddler. Even after Isis and I became a couple I’ve remained on close terms with her, which came in handy whenever the two have had yet another of their school power struggles and I had to act as the peacemaker.” He chuckled. The relationship between the two of them could only be described as a friendly rivalry. They respected each other immensely, but that didn’t stop them fighting over differences in plans or opinions, and when that happened it was up to Julius to prevent it from blowing out of all proportion.

“If I had to pick one of the daughters to be the sister I never had, it would be Lady Remilia hands down. She’s plucky and stubborn with a genuine smile and a peal of laughter never far from her lips. Only Lady Petra truly dislikes her, and Petra’s a stone-hearted bitch at the best of times. Though to be fair Petra does like my father, she painted that portrait of him he likes so much.” His voice faltered. “At least, that’s how Remilia used to be. She took the shooting hard, harder than most of us.”
It had been her cutting which had spurred him to try and take action, along with the unprovoked assault on his priest in the backlash that followed the shooting.  His father had taught him that the best soldiers were those who could see what others could not, the low ridge that would stop a bullet, the hollow which would provide the perfect place for an ambush, the rough ground which could be hiding mines. His father had that gift in spades, and had passed it on to him. Remilia had tried to hide it, but all the signs were there. The long sleeves, the way Faith had looked at her and how Freya was acting around her, and he had put all the pieces together. He had felt that if he could find a solid answer for why their sheltered lives had come undone, why a fanatic with a gun had gotten so far and done so much damage, it would soothe her damaged soul and she would stop hurting herself and by extension her family. In the end, his actions achieved nothing of the sort, and it had been up to others to help her. He doubted she ever knew that he knew about her cutting, that his actions were in part trying to find answers for her. He swiftly moved on, unwilling to dwell on that topic.

“Lady Faith Aurelian and I share a lot of common interests, a love of Ancient Terran History for one. We were dating for a while, she was my first girlfriend.”

“Isn’t she the religious one? Why would you want to date her?” Scvott said. 
Summer caught Julius’s eye and gave him a secret smile. They both knew better. “Don’t judge a book by its cover Scvott, and don’t judge Faith either.” Julius answered. “She may be nosy, bigoted and self-assured, but she is very observant, she can be highly charitable and she has a bright mind. We may have disagreed on certain things, which are what ended our relationship in the end, but I have great respect for her and hope we remain friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, but what about Lord Fulgrim’s daughter? She’s the really attractive one right? At least that’s what I’ve heard.” Flynn interjected. It would be Flynn. He was one of those types who liked to rank the daughters, who was the most attractive and the like. Julius could never see the point in that; they were all equally good, just in different ways. Then again, he did know them all intimately, so he was biased to an extent. He audibly sighed.
“That’s what everyone hears, and it’s true. Lady Victoria is sex, personified. If I had a throne for every time a boy became…stimulated around her, I’d be a lot richer than I am now.”

“What about you? Don’t you find her attractive as well?”

“What? No! I don’t think of her that way; she’s like family to me. That’s just plain wrong.” He wasn’t ignorant of her…’assets’, but her spoilt and haughty attitude always got to him, and no matter how stunning she was on the surface, what lies within is of equal importance. “She’s a big tease, but she’s not nearly as slutty as you or for that matter anyone else would think. Hell, all the daughters are misunderstood. The public think one thing, when I know for a fact that is completely wrong.”
Flynn didn’t appreciate Julius’s sentiment, he scowled that he hadn’t revealed any juicy details of Victoria’s ‘escapades’.

“Lady Khan's a fighter, always will be. She's the only one of them I remember seriously thinking about military service, with the Scars Legion Auxilia of course. She has a short temper, too. We didn’t get on so well when she was younger, I got a fair few hidings from her because I was one of the only ones who were brave or stupid enough to stand against her. The moment Andrew and her started dating though, she became a whole lot nicer to me. I’d like to think we’re on good terms now. Lady Freya’s a bit…wild, and her animal act unnerves me somewhat. That way she looks at me with those fangs and those eyes, it’s like staring into the eyes of a half-tame beast that will savage you as soon as nuzzle you.” He hadn’t stared that feeling with anyone, not even Isis. He felt she would laugh at him if he ever revealed it to her.
“Ladies Angela and Miranda are good friends, but their powers scare me to be honest. Being able to peer into someone and see everything inside them seems a gross violation to me, though both have been nothing but nice ever since I first met them. It’s a matter of taste, and I don’t let it get in the way whenever I’m spending time with them.” It felt liberating, after lying for so long to be utterly honest about his relations felt like a release, and by the way the others were looking at him expectantly, they seemed to like hearing him.

Dyllion finally said something. “You were quite negative towards Lady Morticia when you were being interviewed by the SBC. Is she on your less liked list?”

Julius knew one of them would bring that up, and at last he could try and practise what he would have to say to her personally. “No, I’m as fond of her as any of the others. It’s just that I don’t see her that often, the least of any of the daughters. She’s shut away most of the time. And I was a bit bitter when they were interviewing me. Before I go off to the IMA I’ll have to apologise to her for what I said, before her father kills me.” He was not smiling at that. Lord Mortarion was as grim and humourless as death, and Julius didn’t want him to be angry at him, not at all.

“Now there’s two I think you’d all like, Ladies Farah and Venus. They could almost be twins for their shared love of machines and building things.”

“Isn’t Farah the one with metal hands?” Flynn interjected.

Julius smiled at him. “Yes. You and Farah would get on like a house on fire were you ever to meet, she’s as enthusiastic about engines and machines as you are. I can see you two discussing the  Vulcanor 16 Twin-Coupled Multi-Burn engine as enthusiastically as I’d discuss the Ullanor Campaign. My friend Johor has harboured a secret passion for Farah since he first met her; I wish he would damn well man up and tell her how he feels.”

“Johor? That’s not an Imperial name.” Scvott pointed out.

“He’s not Imperial at all, he’s from the Interex. He looks like a Human-Eldar Hybrid, inhumanly handsome but for his bat-like ears. Most judge him based solely on his appearance, but beneath that is as nice a nearly human being as ever existed. Now Lady Venus…”

The sound of heavy boots came up the corridor, instantly shutting Julius up. Professor Ahriman was returning. They all stood up as he barged into the room, his helmet removed. Peering over them, he announced. “The Liberation forces will be landing within as few hours, enough time for me to devise a way of dealing with what you saw. Now tell me all about the Daemon, and what it was doing.”

===We Will Meet Them Head On===
Ahriman patiently stood there as Julius and the woman, Summer told him about what they saw. His mind turned the revelation over and over in his mind as he pondered the right course of action. He knew the form of the Daemon; it was a servant of the aspect of the Primordial Annihilator called the Great Changer, the one who twisted the strings of fate and meddled with the lives of men. No wonder his future sight had been impaired all these weeks.

When they were finished they watched him anxiously as he stood there, deep in thought. If he hoped to defeat it, he would have to know why it was here, what it wanted. Harvesting souls for its dark master was one possibility, and if so it would flee rather than stand and fight him. But that seemed the most unlikely. Who go to so much effort over such meagre morsels?
Second: it could be trying to manipulate the course of the war so that the Orks win. That would damage the Imperium, and any damage to the Imperium would be a victory for its dark masters. But surely it knew that any Ork victory would be entirely temporary, sooner or later the Imperium would respond and the planet would be liberated or reconquered. Third: it could be trying to summon more of its foul kin to this world. But what would warrant the Daemons unleashing a full scale incursion this far from either the Eye, or the Maelstrom?

Then it hit him.

“Daemon World.”

“What?”

He’d almost clean forgotten the others were present; such was his intensity of thought. “Seadelant is one of the calmest areas of the entire of the Great Ocean, and is a vital trade hub as well. If this planet were taken from us, it would be a blow. If it were turned into an enemy base, it would be a disaster. And if it were to fall forever from our grasp, and allow the Primordial Annihilator access to material space, Emperor knows how it would end. The Daemon wants to unleash more of its kind, as a first stage to a complete conquest of this planet and it’s transformation into a hellworld, caught between the immaterium and the real universe in perpetual torment.”

Only Julius understood what he meant, and his expression said it all. The others looked from him to Ahriman, dismay clouding their own features as they saw the matching grim expressions coming from Julius and Ahriman.

“That is why it was in the Defence Laser bunker. If it could re-activate the Plasma Reactor using the power of the Great Ocean, it could stabilize a Warp Rift, a way into the material world for all manner of Void Beasts. Once that’s done, nothing short of intervention by the Grey Knights could save Seadelant.” As far as he knew, there were no Grey Knights among the Liberation fleet forces. The Thousand Sons were a close second, but there were only two fellowships, two thousand warriors, not enough to stop an endless tide of Daemons.

“The Daemon has to be destroyed, banished to the darkest depths of the Great Ocean from whence it came before its schemes can come to fruition. The Liberation forces will distract the Orks, and I will sally forth with the Caorst Charxers to the Bunker, and there confront and defeat this Daemon.”
“But what about us? You can’t leave us here!” Julius exclaimed.

“No I can’t. That’s why you’re all coming with me. You know the city better than I do; you’ve lived in it these past few weeks. Just stay behind me, and I’ll make sure nothing gets to you.” Flickers of anger clouded their auras. They had fought alone for weeks, and obviously resented Ahriman’s implications about their ability to fight. He moved to defuse that.

“You have proven yourselves a hundred times over with your actions in the occupied outer city. There will be medals for all of you when the battle is won. I just don’t want you to have fought all this time, and then get yourselves killed at the hour of victory.”

“Professor, ser, you’ve spoken with the Liberation Fleet. Who are coming to liberate us?” Julius was unsure how to address him, and Ahriman sympathised. He wasn’t sure what he was anymore. Was he an academic still, or was he back to being one of the Emperor’s warriors? He would have to search for the answer once this was done.

“Elements of four Legions are inbound even as I speak. The Sons of Horus, my brothers in the Thousand Sons, the Salamanders and Death Guard. Lord Mortarion is leading the Liberation Fleet in person. Not who I expected.” Ahriman carefully kept the distaste out of his voice. Mortarion disliked sorcery, Lord Magnus and the XVth Legion in equal measure, and Ahriman was apprehensive of having to deal with him. Strangely, Julius’ aura flashed with alarm at mention of Mortarion. 

“Ser, have you seen the propaganda broadcasts?” he asked. Ahriman shook his head.

“Well, I might have said something in one which could be construed as…insulting, to Morticia. I was a bit bitter at the time, and wasn’t thinking properly, but Lord Mortarion might think otherwise and I don’t want him angry at me.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it, as the Wolves would say. I’ll get you some proper armour and uniforms from the armoury and you can meet me outside once you’re done. Not long now, today the war will be won.”

“God willing.” Julius whispered under his breath. Ahriman let the comment pass and he led them down to the armoury, leaving them there as he headed outside.

The Graf was standing at the doorway, peering up at the sky. She couldn’t see anything, but the hope was there. He wanted to detach his body of light and see the carnage in orbit with his own eyes, but he wouldn’t dare risk it with a Daemon around. It could easily kill his mistflesh, and destroy him before he could fight back.

The moment she heard the clank of Ahriman’s armour, she turned to him.
“Why haven’t you launched? I know salvation is incoming, but we could aid them immensely if we launch now, kill as many of the foe as possible before the legions land.”
“Graf, that is now impossible. The Resistance fighters came with news. There is a Daemon on Seadelant.”

He could see the shock spreading across her face, and felt quietly vindicated. She didn’t know half of what he knew, but she knew enough to know what that could mean.

“I aim to destroy the Daemon myself, and so I will lead the Caorst Charxers into the outer city. The Legion forces will distract the Orks long enough for me to find and kill the Daemon.” His words were an ultimatum. He was leading them forth, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She realised that as soon as he spoke, and the way her shoulders slumped told him she was beat. Daemons were a step too far for her.

“Order the Caorst Charxers to mobilize, and prepare for battle. At long last, we take the fight to the enemy.” He smiled as a bright flash lit up the sky, one of the enemy Orbital Roks being destroyed most likely, but there was a dark feeling within him. The Daemon must know now that he was coming for it, what schemes would it have in place to stop him?

The first faint plasma contrails began to paint the morning skies with strips of colour, line after line etched into the air as more and more fell from the heavens. Ahriman knew they were Deathstorm Drop Pods, and that the first one would land in exactly forty-eight seconds several hundred yards west of one of the Rok Fortresses. The first troop carrying Drop Pods were ten minutes behind, and the Stormbirds, Thunderhawks, Storm Eagles and Army Landers were another ten minutes behind them. Ahriman had linked himself to the Legion vox net so he could monitor their progress, because he couldn’t unshackle his mind and observe them directly. He hadn’t yet spoken with any of the Legion Leaders, but he knew his old friend Phosis T’kar was leading the Thousand Sons force. He looked forward to seeing him again; he had been offworld working with the Silent Sisterhood while Ahriman was on Prospero.

Around him the Caorst Charxers impatiently waited for the order to move. They had taken his order to heart, the troops eager to spearhead the counterattack and take the fight to the foe after so many weeks of inactivity. The remaining two Baneblades idled at the head of the attack column, followed by the Leman Russ and Malcador tanks and the mechanised companies in their Chimeras. They would have to wait for the Legions to land, charging headlong against the entire Ork horde would be suicide. Once the Orks were distracted with the Legion forces at their throats, then he would strike.

Ahriman had commandeered a Chimera to carry him and Julius’ resistance band through the city, and he stood on top of it observing the sky through a pair of Magnoculars. His eyesight may have been many times better than a normal human, but even that eyesight needed help at times.

Beneath him, Julius and his friends were clustered on the Chimeras rear ramp, talking quietly with one another about trivial things, distracting each other from the fact they were about to go into the belly of the beast. They had new uniforms and new sets of armour. Summer, the woman in particular was much more comfortable now that she was when he had first seen her, the armour fitted much better now.

“Ser, when are we going?” Julius asked from below. He’d decided that Ahriman was ‘sir’, not ‘professor’, which suited Ahriman fine. He hardly felt like an academic at the moment.
“When the Legion forces land, not before. The last thing we want is to be swamped with Orks. We need to get to the bunker fast, before the Legions kill enough Orks to allow the Daemon to achieve its master’s dark goals.” Julius nodded, suppressing the fear in his aura as he turned back to his companions. Ahriman didn’t blame him for feeling that way, he knew no fear, but he felt apprehension all the same. The Daemon would know they were coming for it, and it would be prepared. But it was the only way to ensure this world wasn’t turned into a hell-world, half in and half out of the Great Ocean where Daemons could roam freely and strike at the wider Imperium.

The Caorst Sous-lieutenant marched up and saluted in the almost half hearted Caorst way. They appeared incredibly sloppy, but Ahriman knew they could fight as hard as anyone.
“All troops present and correct my lord. We’re ready to move out at your command.”
In the distance a series of muffled explosions rang out. The first Deathstorm had fired its rockets. Soon more and more faint reports of weapons rang out as more and more Deathstorms unleashed their fury into the Orks. Ahriman couldn’t help but smile.

The last Deathstorm touched down, and the sudden cessation of streaking drop pods in the sky felt like the curtain drop at the end of act one, the tension rising as they waited for act two to start. Checking his helmet chronometer, Ahriman knew the first troop drop pod would be landing exactly four minutes and eight seconds from now, and it would be carrying Astartes from the fifth company of the Sons of Horus, under the command of ‘Little Horus’ Aximand of the Mournival. And yet this knowledge wouldn’t allow him to watch as the Drop Pod struck the surface, hear the explosive bolts blowing open the doors and see the Astartes in Sea Green armour unleashing the Warmaster’s fury upon the foe.

He cursed the Daemon for inhibiting the free movement of his body of light. Extending his mind only went so far; he wanted to see the Legions cutting into a foe like a scythe through grass and bringing the Emperor’s vengeance. But if he dared leave his flesh he risked opening his soul to attack, an attack he could not defend against. Many of his brothers had been killed by Daemons when they had tried to scry out the foes with their subtle bodies, Ahriman knew the risk.

“Not long now.” He whispered.

===The War in the Air===
The kiss of the upper atmosphere shook the Stormbird as it tore down towards the landing zone. Nathaniel Garro of the Death Guard felt the craft vibrating around him, grateful for the restraint harness that held him fast to his cage seat. Libertas, his famed greatsword sat belted at his hip and there was nothing to do but wait until the Stormbird touched down and the assault began. This was one of the most stressful parts of the fight, as there was nothing he could do until the ship landed; he was helpless if something went wrong with the Stormbird while it was still in the air. He slowed his breathing and cleared his mind of all distractions, feeling a warm and pleasant surge fill his body as his armour prepared his metabolism for the imminent battle. Around him, the hulking forms of his best first company veterans sat, waiting for the order to fight. He had been first captain for nearly five hundred years, ever since Captain Typhon had been killed by that Jorgall monster during the purge of the bottle world several centuries before the end of the Crusade. The rank, second only to the Primarch Himself still filled him with pride, pride that the last of the Dusk Raiders was so trusted to be made the Primarch’s red right hand. He had more or less led the Legion for the past eighteen years, but he was happy to delegate that responsibility back to whom it truly belonged.

“Steel your souls my brothers. I want a clean and fast deployment. I want it so sharp the Emperor himself would applaud its perfection!” He took a breath as the standby alert began to wail. “Today the Primarch leads us, and we will make him proud to do so! For Mortarion and Terra!”

‘Mortarion and Terra!’ Garro heard Veteran Sergeant Aron’s rough baritone leading the chorus of assent.  His voice reminded him of Sergeant Hakur, now long dead. Everyone he had known was long dead. Decius, Temeter, Voyen, Rahl, Sender, even Grulgor his former rival, all were now lost to time. He was the last of the old Legion. He disliked the term ‘old ninety’ as it sounded patronising and he refused all exultation, but he couldn’t avoid the fact that out of the ten thousand Dusk Raiders who had left Terra, he was the only one left, the only one who still remembered their name and mantra, the red right arm of the Emperor.

That abruptly reminded him of why the Primarch now led them into battle after so many years, what had motivated him to take up the Manreaper and the Lantern again.  In some ancient cultures the shedding of blood was a cleansing act, and Lord Mortarion needed to purge the rage from his system, after what had happened with his daughter. Garro had been on Barabus when he had heard the news, and he had immediately sent the condolences of the Legion to their lord and master. It was as much a wound to the Legion as a whole as it was to the lady Morticia, and though they could do nothing to the one responsible they could take out their anger on the Greenskins below. Though they were mindless Xenos, Garro felt a sliver of pity for them. At the briefing, Lord Mortarion had simmered with anger, anger Garro knew he felt for the one called Keiter. Keiter was beyond his reach, but these Orks weren’t and they would taste his wrath.

Suddenly a near impact shook the Stormbird and the sound of shrapnel pinged of its flanks. Garro pulled himself to his feet and moved down the spinal aisle of the Stormbird, clutching onto the low, overhead handrails and he went. He nodded to the Death Guard Veterans in their Mk IV or Terminator Plate as they impassively sat waiting for the order to go. Though he was first captain he didn’t usually wear Terminator plate, it was too slow and bulky for his tastes. The bird rocked and shuddered as another near miss shook it.

He reached the cockpit section and wrenched open the hatch. Two flight officers sat back to back, facing wall panel consoles, and beyond them two pilot servitors lay, hardwired into forward-facing helm positions in the cone. The cockpit was dark, apart from the coloured glow of the instrumentation and the sheen of light coming in through the forward slit-ports.
“What the hell is firing on us?” he demanded to one of the flight officers.

“Gunship sir, Savage Class. It has already downed two Thunderhawks, a Stormbird and an Army Lander, as well as several Thunderbolt fighters. We’re trying evasive manoeuvres.”

“Savage Class? That’s frigate sized! How the hell did it sneak up on us?” He’d seen them in action during the Crusade; the Savage Gunship’s short-ranged but incredibly powerful Heavy gunz were more than capable of ripping into a cruiser with vicious ease. Even a glancing hit from one of them would vaporise the Stormbird, and that was ignoring its lighter weapons.

“I don’t know sir; it must have followed us through the atmosphere. If we can hold on, we will get low enough so it can’t follow us without risking crashing into the ground.”

“But what about the rest of the transport stream? That ship could pick off our transports one by one as they come in.” Garro thought for a second. The safety of the Primarch and the rest of the transport stream was of top priority. Even his own life mattered not if this Gunship had the capability of killing the Primarch’s Stormbird. “Pull the ship up. We’re going to lure the Gunship away from the Transport stream.”

“But sir, we could easily get shot down if we do that.”

“Are you disobeying my orders?” he reached for Libertas. It was only a bluff, but the flight officer fell for it.

“No First Captain. Diverting course now.” He felt the Stormbird lurch as it broke away from the transport stream and flew straight at the Gunship.

“Can our missiles dent that thing?” he asked.

“I don’t know First Captain. Shall we find out?”

Smiling, Garro left the cockpit and went to address his warriors. Briefly he told them of the danger, and of what they were doing.

“Are we going to board the gunship?” Veteran Sergeant Aron asked.
Garro hadn’t thought of that. He wanted to fight on the ground, alongside his liege-lord and gene sire. But that hardly seemed likely now. He would fight and die up here, where the sky meets the void. He opened the vox-link to the flight officer. “Can you get me a full scan and readout of the Gunship?”

“On the way sir. Check your Helmet HUD.”

Garro pulled on his Mk IV Helmet, and after a few seconds was rewarded as gun-camera footage was beamed onto his field of vision. Before them the Savage Gunship flew, an ugly brute, boxy, blocky with no aesthetics to it at all. The flat bow was full of massive cannons, most of which appeared to be salvaged Imperial weapons from the space stations destroyed at the very outset of the invasion. Those cannons were made to crack the armour of a capital ship, if they hit the Stormbird there would be nothing left. The ship was turning, trying to get a lock on the twisting and dodging Stormbird, its secondary and flak batteries occasionally firing to no effect. Garro breathed a sigh of relief. It was no longer going after the transport stream. Their distraction had worked. Now they just had to destroy the brute. He had a hundred veterans behind him, and his mind raced as he thought of a way they could board and destroy the Gunship.

“First and second Terminator squads will spearhead the boarding action, push on the ships reactor. Fifth and sixth Veteran squads will come with me, hit the bridge. Third and fourth Terminator will hit the engines, seven through ten Veteran will hold the breach so we can escape, raid deeper in to keep the Orks distracted and unaware of our true intentions. Between us we should be able to send the thing down in flames. The Stormbird will harass the ship as we fight, keep it occupied until we can blow it. Remember to activate your boot magnets; we don’t want anyone falling off the ship.”
A chorus of fists smacking against plate told Garro they had heard and understood his orders. Other legions would have made a song and dance about receiving orders, but they were Death Guard; they did not need any more than that.

“Use the missiles to make a breach in the upper outer hull so we can have access.” He commanded the pilots. A few seconds passed as the Stormbird manoeuvred into position.

“Missiles away.” The pilot called out. Next second, there was an almighty crash and the entire ship shook so violently Garro was flung off his feet, the vid feed spluttering and dying in his helmet.

“Sir, we’re hit! Major damage to the starboard wing.” The flight officer yelled into the vox.

“Can you keep us flying?” Garro spat as he rose to his feet.

“I can damn well try.” The Stormbird lurched again as it struggled to remain in the air. One thing was for certain, boarding the Gunship would be suicide now, they would have no way off the Gunship with the Stormbird in this state. Garro had a bad feeling the Stormbird wasn’t going to last very long anyway.

“Sir! Unknown contact bearing 037.” The flight officer added yet more fuel to the fire. Was this another Savage? An Onslaught Attack Ship? Something else?

“Radio contact from the unknown ship sir, Imperial channels.”

“Patch me through.” Garro commanded. For a few seconds there was heavy static, and then a voice punched through.

“This is the XVIIIth Legion escort Frigate Iron Tide under the command of Captain Roemer, hailing unknown Legion Stormbird.”

“This is XIVth Legion Stormbird 002, under the Command of First Captain Nathaniel Garro. What are you doing in the high atmosphere?”

“Engaging and destroying that Gunship First Captain. It broke the picket line and wrecked the Night Lords Frigate Black Shroud. We are engaging it as per the Lord Solar Admiral’s orders.”

“Captain, the gunship’s bow batteries will rip your ship in half if they hit you.”

“They won’t hit.” The Captain seemed absurdly confident. Garro checked the Stormbird’s vitals, and came to a grim realisation.

“Additional: our ship has been crippled by enemy fire, can you landing bay cope with a Stormbird?”

“We can try at least. Forward docking bay is yours.”
Garro gritted his teeth as the wounded Stormbird limped towards the Frigate Docking bay, the Ork Gunship still sniping at it. All it would take is one hit to finish them off. The frigate loomed large before them, painted in the green and black of the XVIII Legion. Its forward turrets were banging away at the Gunship, return fire impacting against its voids.

After several torturous minutes, the ship screamed into the landing bay; smoke pouring from its shattered wing like blood pumping from a wounded man.  Garro winced as the Stormbird searched for a place to land; the Frigate’s landing bay was designed for shuttles and a few escort fighters, not for a massive war engine like a Stormbird. There was precious little space within for it.

Finally the Stormbird touched with a hard slam, lurching as its skids smacked into the deck. The harness restraints disengaged and the warriors scrambled from their cage seats and hastily retrieve their stowed weaponry as the debarking ramp dropped from the rear of the Stormbird. By now smoke was beginning to fill the inside of the transport, and Garro knew the bird was not going to last very much longer.

A damage control team were already outside, pouring foam onto the shattered Stormbird. Garro marched over to their leader, a young Lieutenant.

“Lieutenant, make sure to concentrate your efforts on the starboard engine. The fuel line’s been shattered, and it’s likely to go up.”

The Lieutenant suddenly noticed the towering Astartes standing beside him, and for a moment he was paralysed, before he threw out a snappy salute and swiftly calling orders to his men. The men half ignored his commands until Garro gestured at them, and then they hustled up. The Lieutenant was obviously no combat officer; this must be his first action and the men were ill used to him. He felt a pang of sympathy, when he had become First Captain many of the veterans had resented him until he had proven himself to them. The Lieutenant would have to do the same.

Suddenly an electrical crackle reached Garro’s ears, and he turned to see flames bursting into life inside the Stormbird, forming a barrier which cut the remaining Astartes off from escape. 

He turned to find the Lieutenant and see if he could provide any help, but he was gone.
He turned again to see the Lieutenant fearlessly running towards the burning Stormbird, a personal extinguisher on his back. Though he was dwarfed by the raging fire, he began blasting away at the barrier of flame inside the hold, holding it back as Garro’s Legion Veterans disembarked past him. The paint on their armour was bubbling from the intense heat, and Garro wondered how the Lieutenant was coping with it in there. His bravery was allowing the slower Terminator Veterans to disembark, and Garro counted them off one by one, until he was certain all one hundred of his men and the pilots were safely off. As he did he saw a series of flashes and knew the Stormbird was about to go up. He turned and ran into the Stormbird. He grabbed the Lieutenant and pulled him out of the Stormbird while yelling. 

“Get down!”

Next second the Stormbird exploded in a shrieking fireball, blowing the two out of the Stormbird and clear across the docking bay. Several fighters and shuttles were torn apart by the shrapnel from the Stormbird’s fiery demise, and small fires sprouted all over the landing bay. The Lieutenant had been shielded from the blast by Garro, but there were cuts to his face and arms, and the heat of the fire had left his skin burnt. Garro helped him to his feet.

“You...saved me.” He managed to say.

“And by your actions earlier you saved a number of my men. The XIV Legion owes you a debt of honour. I am first Captain Nathaniel Garro, and if I have my way there will be a medal for you and your men for your brave actions here. Come with me.” Garro turned and marched towards the bridge, calling out an order to his men.

“Brothers, aid the damage control teams. We may be down, but by the Emperor we are not yet out of this fight!”

===Driver, Advance!===
The worst part of any battle was the waiting before it began, the agonising period before you went into the fray. And when your foe was a fugging Daemon, it made the whole experience worse. Julius was twitchy, jumpy. They were about to take a step into the unknown. They had got away from the Daemon last time, but that was last time.

“Oll…Julius, its bloody Julius now isn’t it? Anyway, there’s something up there, too big to be a landing ship. Can you see?” Dyllion’s words brought Julius back to reality.
Julius followed Dyllion’s outstretched finger, and sure enough, there was a faint object high above the city.

“Ser, what’s that?” Julius asked, pointing to Dyllion’s faint speck in the sky.
Ahriman lifted the magnoculars to his eyes, pointing them at Julius’s mystery object.

“That’s a Legion Frigate, Gladius class. What it’s doing in the high atmosphere is beyond me, but it must have something to do with the Legion landing forces. Any minute now.”
Within a few minutes Ahriman’s words came true and the skies were filled with fighters, bombers and Landers. Thunderhawks in the olive and white of the Death Guard and the crimson of the Thousand Sons jostled with sea green Stormbirds of the Sons of Horus. Huge Titan landers and bulk Army haulers joined the Legion ships plummeting to earth. Julius had never seen a more spectacular sight. Beyond the walls the call of battle raged, the distant roar of thousands of small arms and the crash of artillery. The Orks were in for it, at long last.

Ahriman clambered back into the Chimera, but left the top hatch open and he stood up in it. He gestured at the others, who swiftly clambered in after him. The back ramp hissed shut behind them. From outside, they could hear the sounds of all the troops mounting up, swiftly drowned out by the roar of engines starting up.
“This is it then?” Scvott asked. Next second the powerplant on their Chimera powered up, rendering speech impossible. The answer was already around him.
Ahriman said two words, barely audible above the roar of the engine.

“Get moving.”
	
“Driver advance!” the call echoed up along the column. The clatter of tracks rose up as the lead Baneblades lurched forth, the column trailing behind them. Ahead, the massive fortress doors opened with a moan of hydraulics for the first time in twenty three days.
They were on their way. Back to the bunker, back to the Daemon.

Summer reached over and took Julius’s hand, ignoring Flynn’s rolled eyes or Dyllion’s perpetual scowl. He couldn’t say anything to her, but this was enough.

For several minutes the convoy ground onwards. Julius could hear noting above the roar of the engine, and he was more focused on holding on for dear life. He’d been in a Chimera before on Terra, but not one driving through a ruined city. It jerked and bounced until Julius though his brains had been mashed inside his skull and he was covered in bruises. He had no idea how far they’d gone, how far they had to go, what the situation was like outside. Lord Ahriman stood rock still with his head poked out of the top hatch, commanding the battle. Julius had no wish to distract him.

Suddenly there was an explosion loud enough to cut over the engine noises. Julius reached for the nearest vision slit, but could see little through the fogged armourglass. A few seconds later another massive explosion came up, and then another. Julius’s curiosity finally overcame his reluctance to distract Ahriman.

“Ser, what is going on out there?”

“Bomb Squigs.” Ahriman muttered as he opened the vox and barked out a warning. A few seconds later, another muffled explosion announced the demise of yet another tank.
The roar came up even above the engine growls and the squeal of tracks, a roar which though he was familiar with it, still chilled Julius to the bone.

“WAAAGH!” 

It was followed by the chatter of Ork weapons, and a few screams from the Caorst troopers caught up in the charge.

“Ser?” Julius asked.

“Orks. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. The bastards were waiting for us, setting an ambush” he opened the vox. “This is Lord Ahriman; watch your nine, incoming Orks.” The Chimera stopped dead and the back ramp hissed open.

“Stay here.” He commanded as he dashed out. For a few minutes they sat there, watching troops dismount and rush into battle through the open hatch. More and more streamed past, as the crack of lasfire and the roar of battle cannons grew and intensified.
Julius could see they needed help, and he reached down and unbuttoned his holster. “We have to go and help; they will need every man and woman who can handle a Lasgun.”

“The Astartes lord commanded that we stay here, and you may be the son of the bravest man who ever lived but I am not and don’t want him yelling at me once this is done.” Scvott was still wedded to authority even now. Julius didn’t think he would ever learn.

“Suit yourself.” Julius got up and dashed from the Chimera, drawing his pistol as he did so. He did not need to look to know Summer was right behind him, and Flynn behind her.
The situation did not look good. Orks were pouring from the building and side streets, meeting the Caorst troopers in a storm of lasfire and bullets. Already the ground was carpeted in Ork and Caorst dead, and several pyres showed where tanks had been brewed up. Once the sight of all those dead humans would have made Julius sick, but not anymore. Now he gave them no more attention than he would were they the corpses of rats or dogs. It still felt unnatural to feel that way, and he knew he would have a lot of questions for his father when he returned to Terra. If he returned to Terra.

He saw an Ork about to throw a stick grenade and shot it through the head. He threw himself flat beside a dismounted squad and added to the firepower they were putting out. None of the Caorst troopers seemed to notice him, but they had bigger things to worry about.
The Orks were throwing themselves against the Convoy time and time again, wave after wave of green bodies. The urban terrain hampered the armour as they tried to bring their heavy weapons to bear.

Another howling mob of Orks burst out of a side street and rushed towards them. The Chimera’s turret Multilaser and the squad Heavy Bolter tore into them, scattering them. Julius felt that this might be the end of it; the Orks had been driven back. Then he saw it.

“Holy fug,” he whispered.

This time there was no end to this wave, it seemed every Ork left in the city were rushing the convoy at the same time. Was the Daemon responsible? Had it ‘informed’ the Orks of the threat and was it letting them deal with it?

Once again the Imperial forces opened fire, but now it was doing little to stop the onrushing horde. Battle Cannon shells tore holes which were quickly refilled, and Lasgun and heavy bolter fire thinned the ranks but could not stop them.

The front edge of renewed Ork push poured across the last few metres of open ground, losing troops to the sustained rifle volleys at every step. Ten metres, five, two, and still they came.
The concussion of the massed Ork charge meeting the Caorst line sent a ripple of shock back through the infantry as the Orks tore into the now vulnerable human soldiers. At range, the Imperials held the advantage, but once the Orks reached close combat, the tide turned in their favour.

Sense departed. Instinct took over. Julius fired his pistol, and saw an Ork’s head spray apart. He stroked with his sword bayonet, and took the top off a skull. Something hit him in the gut.
Winded, he wheeled, and eviscerated another Ork with his blade, before blasting a third with his pistol.

Around him the Caorst fought with bayonet and rifle butt, fighting not for victory, but mere survival. Julius had no idea how many Imperials had been killed in that charge, if Summer and Flynn were alright, but he couldn’t let himself worry about them. He couldn’t much help them if he was dead.

A Caorst Caporal was gutted before him by an Ork Nob with a power claw. He sank five shots into it before it finally died. His new uniform was baptised in blood. He had no idea who was winning or losing, but the Orks seemed to have the advantage, and it was growing all the time. If something didn’t happen soon, they would all be swept away.
A chain of missiles exploded amongst the Orks, and the endless wave suddenly started to slacken.

“Look!” a Caorst trooper yelled, pointing up. Julius looked up.

Above them hovered the slab-sided form of a Stormeagle gunship, missiles spearing away from the top mounted pods into the Orks. Its boarding ramp was down and a warrior stood upon it. He leapt into the air and hit the ground with a thunderous boom mere metres from the straggling Caorst convoy. Chain-blade whirring, the giant in forest-green levelled his bolt pistol at the nearest Orks.

“Rally! For the freedom of humanity and the glory of Terra!”
Like thunderbolts striking the earth, he was joined by others, warriors in green and black bearing the symbol of the snarling drake on their shoulder guards.
They roared as one as they set upon the Orks.

“Vulkan!”

The warriors of the XVIII Legion joined the fray, and the tide turned.

===Death Ride===
The battle didn’t last much longer once the XVIII committed themselves to the fight. The Orks fought hard, but they were no match for the sons of Nocturne. Tactical Support Squads armed with Flamers and Volkite weapons scoured the Orks from the rubble they were concealing themselves in, and assault squads tore apart those Orks who tried to escape. Within a few minutes, the massed Ork assaults were broken and the survivors hounded to destruction as they fled.

Ahriman reviewed these facts as he talked with the Caorst commander, a capitaine colonel named Luc Harcourt. They had lost nine Chimeras, five Russ, three Malcadors and at least four hundred troopers in that fight, every company had suffered heavily. They wouldn’t be able to reach the Bunker on their own now; they would need the help of the Salamanders.
As if anticipating his train of thought, the Salamanders leader strode up to Ahriman. He’d seen him tear apart a mob of Nobs on his own, if anyone could get them through it would be this son of the forge.

“Chief Librarian Ahzek Ahriman of the First Fellowship, well met. I am Brother Captain Zichar Ir'Sem, Lord of the Burning Skies, and Brother Captain of the Fourth Great Company.”

“Welcome Brother Captain, your arrival is most timely. The Orks had the convoy pinned, and time is of the essence, so I will not beat about the bush. We need to get to the outer Defence Laser bunker as fast as possible, and we need the help of your warriors to do so.”

“Why there? Surely you should be concentrating your efforts on cleansing the outer city of the Greenskins? That is what we thought you were doing when we saw the Orks pouring on you.”

“Were it anything other than what it is, I would be. But this is something far bigger than mere Orks. There is another force at work here.”Ahriman didn’t want the news to spread, least of all to Mortarion. He didn’t need him accusing Ahriman of bringing the Daemon here with his presence. But if he wanted the Salamanders to aid him, they would have to know. “There is a Daemon here on Seadelant hiding within that bunker, and I must destroy it before whatever foul plan it has comes to fruition.” 

Ir'Sem frowned at that piece of news. “We were not informed of any Daemonic presence. How can you be sure?”

“I am Ahzek Ahriman of the Corvidae, of course I’m sure. I have witnesses who can testify they saw the hell-spawn. Don’t inform Lord Mortarion, you know how he sees me and my Legion, I don’t want to give him reason to suspect me to blame for its presence here.”

Ir’Sem stiffened and nodded. “Very well Lord Ahriman, my brothers and I will be proud to lead the way to destroy this Daemon. The Orks won’t be much of a problem; we have just the tool for the job.” Ir'Sem said as a convoy of Salamanders vehicles ground up. Ahriman recognised several Deimos Pattern Predator Infernus, a common and favoured design amongst the Salamanders Legion but the lead vehicle is what caught his interest. It was a standard Leman Russ, but it was very unlike the Caorst ones it was painted in a vivid green, with a scale motif in orange. Its gun was the biggest difference, instead of a Battle Cannon, Demolisher cannon, Vanquisher cannon or Executioner Plasma Cannon it mounted a strange weapon vaguely resembling the Mega-Bolters mounted on some tanks and Titans, or the Bolt Cannon carried by the Avenger Strike Fighter.

“That’s new.” Ahriman remarked.

“Just out of the Magma City’s forges. A new Russ variant specifically for combating the Ork menace. This is its first field test; let’s see if it proves itself up to the challenge.”

The Leman Russ had a Salamander poking out of the Cupola, resting on a pintle-mounted Storm Bolter. A Hunter Killer tube sat beside him. This tank was loaded for bear.
The convoy reorganised under Ahriman’s and Ir’Sem’s commands with the Salamanders at the head, supported by the remaining Baneblade and Ahriman’s Chimera. The Caorst were mixed in with the Salamanders to ensure the Marines were on hand to support the human troops. When Ahriman returned to his Chimera, he found Julius, Summer and Flynn drenched in blood and with their weapons drawn sitting outside it. He was hardly surprised, Julius was hardly likely to obey his barked order, and more than his father would have. Julius and Isis shared one big thing in common; they had a lot of their fathers within them and always strived to live up to their father’s legacies. No wonder the two had come together. Ahriman once again looked over the woman, Summer. It didn’t take a psyker to tell that Julius and she had got close. He mentally shrugged. He for one didn’t want to get caught up in this. Let poor Julius have to explain himself to Lady Lupercal once all this was done.

They mounted up, and once again the convoy started moving, grinding on towards the bunker. It wasn’t long before the Orks made their presence felt again.

“Orks to the left!” Ahriman commanded as he felt their psy-field flare. The Russ, he had been informed it was called a Punisher, turned its turret towards the oncoming warband. The Punisher’s cannon roared, an ear splitting scream like a massive saw cutting through metal. Within seconds the entire Ork mob was gone, torn apart in a rain of bullets. The surviving Orks began to chant something in their crude tongue, “Dakka dakka dakka.”
They were clearly impressed, even as it slaughtered them.

Several more mobs confronted them, but each suffered the same fate, either mown down by the Punisher, or blasted by the Baneblade and torched by the Infernus Predators. They were barely fifteen minutes drive away from the Bunker, and the Orks were no longer slowing them down. Unlooked for hope blossomed in Ahriman’s twin hearts. They would pull this off, the Daemon would be defeated and the war won. Hope can be treacherous.
A faint rumbling, like the first signs of an oncoming earthquake. Ahriman thought little of it, but as it grew and grew he became more concerned, until he opened the vox to the Caorst Sous-lieutenant.

“Do you have any idea what that…” his words were cut off as a massive roar rose up from the other side of the inner wall. It could be only one thing.
The Deathstrike was launching, slowly rising on an immense column of flame, the roar drowning out the sounds of battle. Every head turned to watch the sight as it rose, slowly at first but then faster and faster as the chains of gravity were broken. It was a sight straight from the annals of man’s early history, when rockets like that first took man beyond the skies of Terra and into the void beyond.
After a few seconds Ahriman snapped back to reality as he realised what that launch meant.

“I will have the Graf’s head for this!” he roared as he opened the vox link and demanded to speak to her immediately.

“Graf, I gave express instructions not to launch! When that thing comes down, half the liberating Legion forces will be wiped out! I imagine Lord Mortarion will be most interested to hear your explanation before he skins you alive.” He roared before she could even get a single word in edgeways.

She stuttered, tried to keep her failing composure as she replied. “My…My Lord, I…I didn’t touch it. We saw a suspicious individual lurking near it, and next second it launched! We couldn’t do anything to stop it, and the self-destruct mechanism is fused!”

Cursing, he disconnected and turned to Ir’Sem. “Brother-Captain, in less than five minutes that warhead is going to land and everything within a seven kilometre radius will be wiped out. Fortunately for us that one is targeting the Rok fortresses and not the outer city. Fortunate for us, but not for the Legion forces besieging those fortresses. You have access to the Legion network; tell them to evacuate everything from sector D-nine through G-eleven as fast as possible. Hurry!”

Ir’Sem caught Ahriman’s urgency and sent a series of messages to the other Legion Lords. Soon the renewed roar of engines revealed that they had cottoned on to his message. For several minutes the skies were full of Stormbirds and Thunderhawks evacuating the Legion Forces away from the blast zone. They were just in time.
A nearly invisible streak betrayed the falling Warhead, and Ahriman braced himself for what would come next. But that would turn out to be something completely different.

The warhead blossomed into a half-sphere of violet light, everything touched by the light consumed by the warp. 

“Vortex Warhead.” Ahriman whispered as it penetrated. He repeated it. “How the hell did the Deathstrike have a Vortex Warhead loaded?! We checked it before we loaded it!”

Next second Ahriman felt a sickening blow to his very soul, as something began to shift in the Great Ocean beneath him. the aetheric impact threw him off his feet, the raw horror of what was taking place below them as potent as the Vortex warhead, with far greater consequences. The veil between worlds was thinning, the power of the Great Ocean pressing in on Seadelant, and he could feel it assaulting his senses. The warp rift opened by the Vortex warhead wasn’t collapsing as it was supposed to; it was staying strong and feeding off something. Beyond it vast shoals of void predators were already massing as the walls of reality grew thinner, swirling armies of formless monsters, fanged beasts and destructive entities. All were servants of the Primordial Annihilator, and all were answering the call to battle, a call Ahriman was too late to stop. He had failed, again, and the forces of the Imperium were about to pay the price.

“Ser, what the hell is going on?” Julius bent down over him, concern on his face.

He spat out one word through bloody lips.

“Incursion”

===Hell comes to Seadelant===
The first victim was an Astartes from the Death Guard second grand company. His squad were advancing forth towards one of the Rok Fortresses, when one of the dying Orks suddenly burst asunder, its flesh and blood spraying everywhere. In its place stood a hell-creature, a tall scaled bestial monster with a sharp blade and a long tongue. Within seconds the Death Guard warrior had shouted out a warning, but that was the last thing he would ever do. Seconds later, the warp monster was standing beside him, swinging its blade in a wide arc.

The blow almost effortlessly bisected the Death Guardsmen, cleaving through his Mk IV Plate like it didn’t exist. His fellows watched in horror as he fell and swiftly turned their bolters upon the intruder, but the shells had no effect. Within seconds another three Astartes were cleaved apart by the monster, and then another four as they tried to get a bead on the target which moved almost too fast for them to see. The sergeant swung at the intruder with his power sword, parrying the hell-spawn’s death blow, but it moved faster than he could and finally it beheaded him with a single sweep, lifting his head up and roaring its triumph to its infernal master. The remaining Death Guardsmen finally finished it off with an entire clip to the head, the monster exploding in a cascade of red sparks. Almost an entire squad of Astartes warriors had been wiped out in less than ten seconds.
The remaining Death Guard warrior dazed and confused checked back over his vid-capture trying to identify his assailant. It took him only a few seconds to identify, but when he did he wished he was wrong. It was classified as a Bloodletter, a Daemon of the Blood God. He immediately sent the information over the Legion vox network to his captain and his Primarch, but by then it was too late.

All across the battlefield more of the Daemon’s kin spawned into life fuelled by the Warp Rift opened up by the Deathstrike’s Vortex warhead, first in ones and twos, then in their dozens, and they fell upon the warriors of the Emperor’s Legions with a primal bestial fury. More of the red skinned sword-monsters hacked their way into the ranks of the Astartes, while pink skinned abominations with no fixed form threw torrents of pink Warpfire which immolated flesh and metal in equal measure. In the air packs of stingrays covered in eyes and tusks hunted the Jetbikes, fighters and bombers with relentless vigour, and on the ground more Bloodletters riding massive metal-beasts crashed through the Legion lines, trampling Astartes underfoot and ramming tanks over. The Orks, caught between fire and flood died where they stood, several thousand fleeing from the three way fight as the Astartes and the Daemons confronted each other. The Titans stood mutely, unable to aid the forces on the ground deal with this new threat as it manifested too close for them to engage safely. Lightning cracked the sky and puddles of blood boiled on the plains.

Hell had come to Seadelant.



“Lord Solar Admiral! Our scanners are going haywire! Something is pushing out of the rift!”
Kulenka pulled up his Dataslab and checked it. The demise of the Hulk had created a warp rift in the fabric of space-time, and his ships were carefully keeping their distance from it. The Hulk had died, but it had died hard. Nine ships had been destroyed by it before it fell apart, and the Blood Angels Strike Cruiser Shield of Sanguinius had been nearly destroyed, and was even now only just holding together. It would require several years to repair the damage, and Kulenka didn’t relish having to explain to Lord Sanguinius what had become of his warship.

His wandering mind snapped back into focus when something pushed its way out of the rift, closely followed by a second, and then a third object in quick succession. Kulenka’s eyes widened and he bellowed for a closer look. He got one, and for several seconds he started at the pict-captures of the new arrivals.

He had never seen their like before, but he had heard of them from admirals who were based at the Cadian gate. Ships trapped in the warp and turned into sentient monsters, living vessels hungering for blood.

“Daemonships.” He whispered, his throat dry.



Nathaniel Garro swore as he reviewed the messages from the ground. According to them, Daemons were popping up everywhere, tearing into the Astartes lines with the Death Guard taking the brunt of their attentions. How they had manifested, what fell ritual must have summoned them to this world Garro had no idea, but he could do nothing to help his Primarch. He was stuck, marooned in the high atmosphere on board the Iron Tide. The Savage Gunship was long gone; a well timed salvo from the Iron Tide tearing it apart and all the Tide was doing now was sitting at anchor, its engines keeping it from plunging to the planet below.

His transhuman hearing heard the word ‘boarder’ mentioned, and he turned to the Ship’s Captain, who was listening intently to his vox. “First Captain,” he called out. “Message from below decks. Something about there being… there are intruders on board.”
Garro knew what they were. “Daemons.” He growled. He turned on his vox to address his veterans. “Attention, incoming Daemons. Sweep the ship for them and terminate with extreme prejudice. Avoid crew casualties at all costs.”
A series of clicks indicated that his men had received their new orders. In a single fluid move he drew Liberatas, the move starling the crew of the command bridge, who turned to stare at him. 

“Keep the ship flying Captain. The Hell-Spawn are a distraction, nothing more. They can’t harm the ship, so they are trying to keep us from interfering with the battle on the ground. My men and I will deal to them. We must remain on station, if things get too bad on the ground you will have to cover the evacuation of all loyal forces before the planet is sanctioned.”
Their faces blanched when they heard his words. The Endurance had several Cyclonic Torpedoes as standard, and it could easily turn them on Seadelant.  He didn’t like the idea of killing the planet they had come to save, least of all a world as strategically important as Seadelant, but what choice did they have?

He made a gesture of protection before thundering off, Libertas held at the ready.



Julius stared at confusion at Lord Ahriman as he struggled to his feet. What did he mean by ‘incursion’?

Before he could ask, an explosion came from the head of the column. The spearhead Caorst scout vehicle had just gone up in a fireball. The Orks again. Julius checked his Hellpistol and turned to face the incoming horde. But what crawled out of the smoke and fire wasn’t Ork at all.

Crawling towards them was a metallic monster, a russet red scorpion made of brass and iron scuttling forward on spiked legs. Its body was covered in overlapping segmented plates, a massive cannon jutting from its maw and a pair of huge claws snapping at the air. A tall arching tail ending in a repeating Autocannon whipped back and forth.
Julius felt sick just by looking at it, the same feeling he had when he had seen the Daemon beneath the bunker, and glancing over at Summer her expression matched his own. Scvott, Flynn and Dyllion gaped open mouthed at it as it approached the head of the column, the blood drained from their faces. Scvott with a pale face was almost comical, but Julius wasn’t laughing. He wouldn’t wish this on anyone, least of all someone who had wished to deny their existence.

“Brass Scorpion!” Ahriman yelled, gesturing with his heqa staff. A Daemon Engine. 
Ahriman’s spat word now made perfect, chilling sense. His worst fears, the ones he had confided to the others were coming true all around them. A Daemonic Incursion. The mass invasion of reality by the beasts of the warp out for blood and souls.

The Salamanders and Caorst troopers rushed to confront it, but they blanched when they saw what they were facing, none of them had ever seen a Daemon Engine before. The monster had no such qualms, and its tail cannon tore through the Caorst troopers and Salamanders in equal measure. They scattered and returned fire, scattered anti-tank shots bounced off of its segmented body as its tail cannon tore through the infantry and raked the armoured personnel carriers. It was not carefully selecting and destroying its targets; it was trying to kill everything in front of it regardless of what they were. A weakness.

Julius watched as the lead Baneblade rotated its turret and let off an ear-splitting shot at the Scorpion. The shell missed, and the machine scuttled over to it at breathtaking speed, plunging its claws into the Baneblade’s armoured glacis plate, peeling it open.
The Baneblade went up in a mushroom cloud, silhouetting the scorpion against its fiery demise. For a second Julius dared hope the Scorpion had gone up with the Baneblade, but once the glow had faded it was still there, standing over the wreck of its victim. The machine almost drank in the carnage; it seemed to revel in the destruction it was causing.

A Salamanders Tactical Support Squad armed with Melta weapons ran up to it, but the infernal machine scuttled up before they could deploy and doused them with molten brass from vents under its jaw. The screams of the Salamanders as their armour liquidified and they were melted would haunt Julius for years to come.

A Predator Infernus with Magna-Melta let of a heat blast, but it did little more than blister the red hide of the Scorpion. A cannon shell ended the Predator before it could fire or retreat. The head of the column disintegrated into bloody shambles as the scorpion turned the tanks and troop carriers into scrap and carpeted the ground with the bodies of Caorst Troopers and Salamanders. Julius retreated with the rest of the troops, constantly looking over his shoulder as the Scorpion worked its way along the column, blood and fire in its wake.

He reached Lord Ahriman, who was co-ordinating a counterattack against the Scorpion. He nodded at Julius before taking off towards the Scorpion, throwing bursts of aether-fire from his gauntlets at the brass beast, but they winked out before touching it, the runes on its armour glowing with each failed attack. If Ahriman couldn’t harm it, what could?

The answer hit Julius as he watched several Salamanders rush past him. The Scorpion’s bloodlust blinded it to other dangers, one in particular, how his father had won his third Star of Terra destroying a Warlock Titan on Quetansk. But first he would need to find something.
One of the Salamanders Rhinos was sitting there, engine growling. He ducked into the back of it, confident what he sought would be in there. Sure enough, resting in the back of the Rhino was an Astartes pattern melta charge. The Salamanders never went anywhere without pacing some serious heat. It was not made for ordinary humans, he had to sling it on his back to carry it, but it would serve.

“What the hell are you doing with that thing?” Dyllion called at him as he ran past his squad, providing covering fire on the Scorpion from behind a pile of rubble.

“Doing a Pius.” Julius called back, before taking to his heels.

He ducked in behind a burning Russ, watching as the Scorpion lashed out at another Predator Infernus, ripping its turret off and tossing it aside in a single fluid move. He had to hit the hell-machine while it was distracted, else it would rip him to shreds in an instant before he could deliver his cargo.

He ran from cover to cover, carefully timing his moves to ensure its attentions were elsewhere each time. At one stop, he rolled the melta charge in a puddle of Ork blood it was disgusting, but it would help mask him from the scorpion’s sight. Closer and closer he came to the machine, and it still hadn’t noticed him. Its desire for blood and carnage was blinding it to his approach, and he would make it rue that lack of sight. As it lashed out at a Malcador, he seized the chance and ran up straight to the Brass Scorpion, ducking under its spiked legs until he faced its engine.

Its back was made up of hundreds of armoured cables squirming like infernal worms. Julius nearly retched at the sight, but he held his composure and waited for an opening.
He saw it and in the blink of an eye pulled the tab on the melta charge and rammed it into the opening. No sooner had he withdrawn his hand than the cables obscured it. Thirty seconds. Move or die.

Julius ran. He ran like he had never run before. He ran so hard his muscles stretched and nearly tore. He couldn’t hear if the Brass Scorpion had noticed him or was after him, he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart and the blood pulsing in his ears. The battle vanished, the world vanished, all that remained was for him to get away before the melta charge detonated.

He didn’t hear the blast, but it picked him up and threw him far. He slammed into a nearby building with deadly force. Pain shot through his ribcage as he felt something break. Blood filled his mouth and he could barely see due to shock. Unconsciousness grasped at him, but he resisted its touch with all his might. If he went under now, he might never wake up. Had his feat of heroics killed him?
He felt something reach down and grab him, but he was too weak to resist. He waited for the end.
But the end never came. His vision cleared enough to see he was being gently carried by a Salamander Legionnaire, the warrior cradling him like a babe. He let himself be carried over to where Ahriman and his friends were. No sooner was he on the ground than Summer ran up to him. She bent down and held him as Ahriman came over.

“You killed the Brass Scorpion Julius, though it nearly killed you with its dying blast. Had Brother Tu’var not been there, you might well have died without any of us knowing. Fortunately he saw you and recovered you. Now Apothecary Luminor will see to you.”
Summer moved off, and the Salamander Apothecary bent over him, scanning his body with the instruments attacked to his right gauntlet.

“Three cracked ribs, and a dislocated shoulder. You got off lucky trooper Pius.”

The Apothecary reached over and with a single fluid move popped his shoulder back in. Julius yelped in pain, but his curse was cut off as the pain receded. His ribs still throbbed and he hurt all over, but he could still fight. The Apothecary helped him to his feet, and straightaway Flynn, Scvott, Dyllion and Summer came up and began congratulating him for killing a Daemon engine. Dyllion slapped him on the back, then immediately apologised as Julius scowled in pain. Summer gave him a peck on the cheek, and then broke off as Ahriman approached him again.

“I’ve spoken with Captain Ir’Sem, and we’ve agreed on what to do next. We’re never going to reach the bunker at this rate, not with every Daemon in the immaterium throwing themselves at the convoy. So the convoy will continue towards the bunker, and hopefully the Daemons will continue to attack it. Meanwhile we will make our way there on foot,” gesturing at Julius and his friends, “and bypass the Daemonic forces guarding the bunker.” 

As he spoke, the roar of small arms fire rose up from across the convoy, along with the infernal scream of Daemons. A grim reminder of what was consuming the planet around them. Ahriman’s next words were terse. “We have to move now, and move fast. Come with me.” Ahriman started off, and the others followed. Julius was last, and as he gingerly followed them he heard the squeal of tracks as the convoy started moving again. How many of them would die so they could get to the bunker? Julius hoped their willing sacrifice would not be in vain. The fate of this world depended upon it.

===The Lair of the Beast===
The broken defence laser bunker perimeter fence lay before them, the nightmare at the heart of the Daemon presence on Seadelant, the lair of the beast. The sky above was purple, split with silent lightning emanating from the source of the warp rift which allowed the Daemons access to Seadelant. Ahriman gripped his heqa staff tightly as he stared over the site, eyes sharp and searching for a route in. They had been fortunate, only once had they seen Daemons and they were busy fighting with a lone band of Orks. Ahriman was fine with the two enemies of mankind slaughtering each other instead of the forces of the Imperium.

Now they were at ground zero, and Ahriman was mere minutes away from confronting his nemesis, the one who had blocked his sight and brought this hell to this peaceful world. He rose through the enumerations; he would have to maintain his discipline and his composure if he was to triumph against the foe.

Carefully he crept, or tried to creep across the open ground towards the fence. A creeping Astartes was a mutually exclusive idea, but he reached it undetected. He gestured to the others to follow him across. He felt bad dragging them into the danger zone like this, but he needed Julius and Summer to show him which building the Daemon was hiding in. Once he knew that, he would have them find shelter and wait for him to finish the Daemon. He would not put their lives at risk; for one he didn’t want to have to explain to Isis how his negligence had killed her boyfriend.

For several seconds he extended his mind across the compound. Nothing. That wasn’t as good as he’d liked, Daemons could pop up at any time in any place, especially this close to the source of their entry point to the material universe.

This time he ran, he ran as fast as he could across the compound. It took less than four seconds. When he looked back, Julius and his friends were frozen, staring at him with fear. He had heard of that happening. They hadn’t seen him like this before, not from close up. Transhuman Dread. Nothing human-shaped should be so fast, so lithe, so powerful, especially not anything in excess of two metres tall and carrying over a ton of armour on his body. Finally they responded to his gestures and followed him across the compound, though much slower than him. He covered them with his bolt pistol as they crossed.

“Which Bunker?” Ahriman whispered harshly. Julius and Summer pointed in unison. They followed Ahriman out towards it, weapons held at the ready. For a brief moment Ahriman thought they had outwitted the Daemon, they would reach the bunker unscathed. He didn’t know if the Daemon read his mind at that exact moment, or if it had been planning its next move all along and was simply waiting for them to enter the trap.

The sky split before him, and three figures burst out into reality. He knew the beasts as they stood before him, contemplating him with evil eyes. Bloodcrushers. Fell servants of the blood god riding mechanical juggernauts which snarled and snapped at the charged air as they readied for a charge. They would crush him under their armoured feet if he wasn’t quick.

“Get behind me!” he yelled as he readied himself for their charge. He heard the sounds of weapons being readied to fire. He didn’t expect any of them to kill one of the Bloodcrushers, but their fire could distract the beasts long enough for him to get in the decisive blow.
They charged, the ground trembling under their fell tread as they thundered towards him. Ahriman waited until the last second before throwing himself aside, swinging his heqa staff in a wide arc. It sliced one of the riders nearly in two, the creature exploding into red sparks under the touch of his weapon. The other Bloodcrushers halted and turned to face him again, but he had his pistol raised and loosened a volley at the lead Bloodcrusher.

The shells did little, and the creature charged again. This time he was too slow, and the juggernaut clipped him, sending him flying. He crashed into the side of a building which deformed under his impact, and grunting with the pain he pulled himself up. He rose to his feet just in time as the juggernaut charged again, the rider brandishing its sword. It swung and he parried, blade meeting blade in a shower of sparks. Time and again he swung and thrusted, but every time the creature blocked him. Much as he hated it, he had to admit it was a superb swordsman. Finally he realised something, and once again his heqa staff swept out, its copper and gold bands rippling with fire. But this time it wasn’t aimed at the rider. It cut deep into the juggernaut, which roared and fell under his blow. The rider was now pinned under its dead mount, and a single thrust finished it off. Two down, one to go.

The third and final Bloodcrusher suddenly appeared out of nowhere and caught him head on. He heard his ceramite armour crack under the impact and again he was sent flying. He rolled over to see it preparing another charge. This time, he would not be able to reach his feet in time. The third rider suddenly reeled and fell out of the saddle, exploding into sparks as it hit the ground. The Juggernaut roared before it too expired. Ahriman looked to see Julius and his friends, weapons aimed where the Bloodcrusher had been standing. They had killed it with their fire. Ahriman strode over, and made the gesture of humility with his heqa staff.

“You saved me. Now come, let’s finish this.” With that, he strode towards the bunker, ignoring the pain in his chest from where the juggernaut had struck him.
The mouth of the bunker lay open before him, a mouth leading into hell. Yet he knew he had to enter it, if this planet was to be saved. He turned to the others.

“You have done well, and you have got me to where I need to be. Now stay here, and keep out of sight.” He turned to go, before stopping.

“Before I go in Julius, here.” He handed over the object he had been carrying on his hip, the object Ir’Sem had given him just before he had left the convoy.

“Captain Ir’Sem gave this to me as a last ditch weapon against the Daemon, but I can banish it without needing this weapon. You should use it, if the worst comes to the worst. It’s a Vortex Grenade. Anything caught in the blast radius is gone, and with the veil between worlds so thin here its potency is increased dramatically. Be wary though, it can easily backfire. Only use it as a weapon of last resort. Good luck.”

Ahriman turned and marched into the corridor, the echo of his bootsteps following him in. ‘I am coming for you hell-spawn’ he thought. ‘And I will have my vengeance.’




Soon the sound of Ahriman as he headed deeper into the bunker faded away, leaving nothing but an almost artificial stillness. The silence was ominous, scary. Julius had never hated silence more than at that point. He had to break it before it drove him mad.

“Did you see how Ahriman killed those metal monsters?” he remarked, sitting in the entrance hallway of the bunker.

There were a few murmured assents, but they swiftly faded and the silence returned. It felt worse than ever; it felt like a weapon, the Daemon was trying to drive them insane with the silence.

Suddenly a thought struck Julius, and he knew he had to share it. “Once Lord Ahriman has killed the Daemon, they will all vanish, the Legions will mop up the Orks and the war will be over.”

“The war will be over.” Scvott repeated softly after a short pause. “It hardly seems possible, after all this time, that by tomorrow it will all be over.” His words captured the mood perfectly. The last month felt like a lot longer, so much had happened to Julius during those thirty short days it felt like several months had passed, not a single month. Within a few hours they would be separated, no longer bound by the ties of comradeship, civilians once again. Julius couldn’t help but feel sad at the thought. He’d lived with and fought beside these people for thirty days, they had become his friends. And Summer, Summer was more than just a friend. He loved her, he could not deny that. He loved her as fervently as he loved Isis, and he had no idea how he could reconcile that once all this was over. He supposed he would find a way, that’s the way life always worked.

“What will you do once the war is over?” Summer suddenly asked, as if she had read his mind. Her words lodged in their minds, and for nearly a minute the dreaded silence returned as they thought about it. Scvott was the first to break the silence. “I suppose I’ll still try and join the Navy as a fighter pilot, but this time thanks to Julius I’ll be in a much better position to do well as a leader.” He sent a brief smile to Julius, who felt like he’d just been awarded a medal.

Flynn ran his fingers through his hair. “I suppose I’ll continue to run the business, there will be a lot of rebuilding, and Nalwood will be in demand. I might make a profit for the first time in months because of this. Always look on the bright side they say.” He flashed one of his trademark cheeky grins, the first time in a while he had done so.

Dyllion made a vague gesture, but once he saw how the others were looking at him, he relented. “I’ll go back to the docks, back to work I suppose. There will always be a need for Longshoremen, especially now with so much of the workforce out of action, and so many of the cranes damaged in the fighting. Not very glamorous compared to any of you, but life goes on doesn’t it?” his eternal pragmatism struck a chord. Julius had to envy Dyllion and his uncomplicated train of thought. His respect for the silent man only grew.

It was Julius’s turn. What would he do once the war was over? He pondered that question for a bit. There were so many uncertainties in his life now, and with the war nearly over those uncertainties were once again moving to front and centre. “I’m not entirely sure. If I head out for Calth now, I will miss all my friends going to College, University and the rest, they will all be gone by the time I return to Terra. But the reason I left Terra was to go to Calth and see my mother and my home, where I was born, and I don’t want to leave that undone and unfinished. 
“Either way, I hope all of you will give me addresses so I can contact you after I’m gone, I’m not about to forget the people who fought with me in the war for Seadelant. You are my friends, my comrades in arms and I will remember you always.”
His words were met by a chorus of backslaps from the others and smiles from the others. Julius felt in the company of giants at that moment, and that feeling he would try to remember in darker times to come.

Finally Summer was the only one left. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word two things happened. A scream came from down the corridor, a sound which chilled Julius to the bone and outside reality tore apart and a host of Daemons materialised before the bunker, murder in their inhuman eyes.
They reacted immediately to the intrusion, Dyllion hefting his heavy stubber and Scvott, Flynn and Summer readying their lasguns. Julius could see immedietly they were in trouble, and Ahriman wasn’t here to help them. 

That scream came instantly to mind. “Shouldn’t we do something about Ahriman? That sounded like he needs help!” Julius yelled as the Daemons drew closer.
At that moment Scvott took command. “Julius, Summer, you go and help Lord Ahriman. We will hold off the Daemons here. These are my orders, now hurry!”
Julius threw a salute at Scvott, and together Julius and Summer followed Ahriman’s trail into hell.

===The Mouth of Hell===
They knew the route; it had burned itself into their memories. It wasn’t long before the emerged into the defence laser chamber. 

The Defence laser chamber was different now. It was lit with a ruddy red light, and the Cables and conduits were gone. The chains and hoists once used to move the weapon into firing position were now heavy with the skulls of men and Orks. Hellish symbols had been painted in blood all over the walls, snake-like runes and eight pointed stars. There were bloody footprints on the floor, bloody handprints on the walls. It was a scene from the nightmares of a madman.

Ahriman and the Daemon were duelling before the open door of the Plasma Reactor, the source of the hellish light. Heqa staff met bird-headed staff in blow after blow so fast Julius could barely see them. As they fought before them, it seemed as though the combatants had swollen to inhuman proportions many times their real size.

“What do we do?” Summer asked him as they stood there, numbly watching the titanic clash.
Ahriman saw them and briefly looked over. It was only for a split second, but his Daemonic foe only needed that.

A swing of the bird-headed staff, and Ahriman was sent sprawling. As he struggled to his feet, he yelled at Julius.

“Julius! The Daemon’s too strong! It must be weakened! Use that Grenade, destroy the Reactor! That’s the source of the Daemon’s power! That's how it's maintaining the Warp Rift! Destroy it and I can banish the bastard!”

Julius nodded, thinking fast. He drew his pistol and ran. Something struck him across the shoulder and flung him aside like he was a rag doll. He struggled to his feet, only to be sent flying again. He could not see what had flung him across the room, there was nothing else in here save for him, Summer, Ahriman and the Daemon. She raised her Lasgun to shoot, but a moment later it was snatched from her grip by invisible hands and flung aside. It was powerful indeed, more powerful than he had expected. But then, what could you expect from a Daemon?

Julius turned and ran again, but this time he had an idea. He felt for the touch of the Daemon, the tug of invisible fingers, and no sooner did he feel the prickling feeling on his skin than he straight away hit the deck. He began to crawl for the open door, hoping that down here the Daemon couldn’t touch him. His hope was shattered when he felt a pain in his leg, and turned to see a sliver of metal impaled in it. More metal fragments were flying at him, and as he pulled himself up to run a wall of invisible force smashed him aside.

The Daemon is toying with him, torturing him for its own amusement while it battles with Ahriman. Julius didn’t know what to do, what he could do to stop a creature with powers beyond his darkest nightmares. Ahriman continued to duel with it, but he was tiring, the Daemon landing several blows against his armour, cracking it with every strike. He wouldn’t last long, and without him they couldn’t survive. The planet couldn’t survive.

Before he could make another move he saw Summer dash out, twisting and turning as she headed for Julius. He felt the vortex surrounding him weaken, and he knew this was his chance. He reached down, pulled the metal sliver out of his leg and ignoring the pain shooting up his leg he ran. He thought he had run hard when he had escaped the Brass Scorpion, but now he ran even harder. His body was wracked with pain; he could hear the whisper of the warp and feel invisible fingers probing for him, trying to grip him. But the Daemon couldn’t focus on all three of them at once, and Summer seemed to understand that. She lunged for her discarded Lasgun and fired several shots. None of them hit, but they distracted the Daemon for a few seconds. That was all Julius needed. The reactor blast doors loomed before him.

He pulled the pin and threw the Vortex Grenade with all of his might into the reactor room, pulling the door shut behind him. His eyes shut as a flash of light came from within, and the Daemon shrieked, a sound which grated in Julius’s mind. He had done it, the Reactor was gone, the source of the Warp Rift removed. Next second a blow of invisible force flung him high into the air. As he hit the ground he felt his cracked ribs snap and pain tore into him with a vengeance.

Through blurred vision he saw the Daemon hovering before him. He had destroyed the reactor and foiled its plans, now it would kill him.  Ahriman was sprawled out nearby; it had knocked him aside in its desire to get at Julius. He felt his skin crawl at the mere presence of the Daemon. It was polluting the galaxy just by being in it.

“I renounce you, evil one,” Julius stammered. He touched the symbol hanging around his neck. The Daemon didn’t respond or even seem to notice his action; it raised the bird headed staff for the killing blow. 

A shadow fell over it before it could strike. Summer stood before it, confronting the abomination. She held the symbol of her faith out in front of her in one hand, her Lasgun in the other. Julius wanted to yell at her to run, to get away, but his tongue wasn’t working.
She tried to shoot it, but it contemptuously knocked her Lasgun aside. It readied to strike at her.

“The Emperor protects!” she screamed at the Daemon.

As she screamed that oath to her god, something changed. The silver Aquila suddenly blazed in her hand, thrust before her like a talisman aimed at the Daemon. White fire poured from it, bathing the Daemon in white light which battled with its own blue light, slowly consuming it.
“The power of the Emperor commands you, abomination!” she yelled at it.
Julius could do little but watch in amazement as she slowly took one step, and then another, towards the Changeling, pushing it back. The monster was transfixed, its four limbs flailing as though some invisible force attacked it; its screeching laughter turning into the pitiful wails of a monster denied its victory.

“In the name of the Emperor, go back to hell and stay there!” Summer commanded, her confidence in the miracle surrounding her growing as the substance of the monster diminished, its internal hell-light fading and flickering as it fought to hold onto existence. The light from Summer’s eagle outshone its hellish illumination tenfold and the entire massive space was bleached with its brilliance. Even Ahriman was staring in wonder as she blasted the Daemon to eternity. She had done it; she had killed it where Ahriman had not.

The Daemon still had one last trick up its sleeve, and as it disintegrated it threw a final ball of warp-fire at her. Time slowed down, Julius could only watch in horror as it flew towards her, as slow and inexorable as death itself. She noticed it too late. The fireball caught her between her breasts, sinking through her body armour and disappearing into her. For a second, it seemed like it had done nothing to her, but as she light from her Aquila pendant faded, she began to sway.

“Please...” she whispered as her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor. Barely knowing what he was doing, Julius ran over to her, catching her, lifting her up, holding her close. 
He tore off her flak vest and ripped open her bodyglove, not caring who saw. There was no mark on her skin where the daemonfire had hit her, nothing to suggest it had harmed her. His tongue had returned to him, and he couldn’t stop talking.

“Summer, hold on Summer. You’ll be alright. You did it, you killed the Daemon. You saved Seadelant, you saved Ahriman, you saved me. You’ll be hailed as the heroine of Seadelant, the one who saved us all.”

“Julius…”

“Don’t say a word. You need to conserve your strength. The Thousand Sons are here, the Pavoni are the greatest healers in the Galaxy. They will take care of you. Just hold on tight, I’m right here with you.”

“Julius…”

“Don’t think it! Don’t even think it!” her voice, so soft and tired was hurting him. He continued to yell, as if the decibel level of his voice could hold back the inevitable.

“There are no marks on your skin, so you can’t be hurt! You’re fine, you’re just tired, that’s all. You killed a Daemon; of course you’d feel tired.”

“Julius…”

“You can’t! You mustn’t I won’t let you! I won’t let you go! Not now, not at the moment of victory. We’ve fought together for the last thirty days, and we’ll fight together again. You just have to hold on, hold on!”

“Julius…”

“No!” Why was she acting like this? Why was she not fighting? “No! I love you!”

“Julius.” Her voice had not changed an iota despite his rising despair. “I know you do. And I know you love another as well, and she will need you. You must be there for her always. I was a vessel for The Emperor’s will, but he has burned me up. My fire is going out Julius, the Emperor has summoned me.”

“Don’t speak like that Summer; the Emperor isn’t finished with you yet. I’m not finished with you yet. You can’t go; you can’t leave me here, not like this.”

Summer reached up and slowly and longingly kissed him, a kiss which he deliberately stretched out for as long as he could, as if he could force life back into her through his lips. Eventually she broke it; put a finger to his lips to stop him saying anything before reaching over and pulling the Aquila from around her neck.

“One does not question the Emperor’s will Julius. Surely you know that.” She coughed gently, the fire in her eyes flickered, wavered.

She pressed her Aquila into his hands, closing them around the symbol of her faith. “Keep this, and remember me. Tell Isis about me, she deserves to know. Always remember Julius, the…Emperor…Protects.” The last word left her mouth like a faint breeze, and her body slackened. The fire went out of her eyes; the fire which filled her soul was snuffed out.

At that moment Julius felt his soul break, a pain so pure it hurt him all the way to his core. He searched for his god, but He wasn’t there. He searched for the Emperor, but he wasn’t there. He held Summer in his arms, her body already beginning to cool, and he screamed out over her, all the pain and anguish of thirty days of war released in a single traumatic shriek as he felt his soul tear.

[[Image:Summer's End.jpg|thumb|right|Summer's End]]

===The Aftermath===
He didn’t remember them taking her off of him; he didn’t remember them taking him out of that hell-space. He didn’t remember how the others learnt about what had happened in there, how they learnt about Summer’s martyrdom. He didn’t remember anything about that next day, when victory was finally won and the last of the Orks were hunted down and exterminated by the vengeful Legions. He sank into a black void where nothing could reach or touch him, and for a while he floated there, suspended in nothingness.

When he finally emerged from it he found himself in his old Hab, the one where he had been staying before the Hulk had arrived, before the world changed. The pict of her was there staring over at him, and after enduring her serene stare for a few minutes he bodily grabbed it and threw it under his bed. He couldn’t face her. Too much had happened.

There was a loud knocking on the door, and Julius pulled some clothes on and shambled out to answer it. It was Scvott, Flynn and Dyllion. It was hard to recognise them in civilian gear. For a few seconds Julius stared at them dully.

“Julius, you look like shit.” Dyllion finally said.

“I feel like shit.” Julius managed to force a smile though. “Thank god you guys survived though.”

Scvott quirked an eyebrow, before swiftly adding, “Forgot you and your father had those sorts of beliefs. No offense?”

“None taken, I’m used to it. What happened to you? Su...We left you guys to hold off those Daemons while we went to help Lord Ahriman.” He couldn’t say her name, the hurt was too raw. Even thinking it felt like a jab into an open wound. Scvott knew what he meant, and he began.

“Those Daemons came at us time and time again; I swear we were bloody lucky to survive at all. Dyllion killed a fair few with that heavy stubber of his, before it was melted by this creature covered in mouths which spat flame. Finally we ran out of ammo, and we drew our bayonets and prepared to sell our lives as dearly as possible. And then suddenly the Daemons winked out, as if whatever was keeping them connected to the world had just been cut off. No sooner had that happened then a Thunderhawk landed in front of the bunker, and you wouldn’t believe who disembarked from it. Lord Mortarion of the Death Guard, a fugging Primarch.”

Flynn took over. “He came up to us, those bodyguards of his right behind him, and he asked us where Lord Ahriman was. Poor Scvott lost his tongue, and I had to answer him.” Scvott shot him a glare. “Hardly surprising, they don’t call him the death lord for nothing. Looks like the Reaper, personified. The last person I’d want to see in a dark alleyway.”

“You’ve never seen Lord Kurze then I take it.” Julius said. Flynn shook his head.

“From what I hear, you never see Lord Kurze until you’re nearly dead from fright.”

“That’s true. He and Ahriman saved my arse when we went down into the Petitioner’s City, and nearly got killed.” More bad memories flooded in. How could he ever tell Isis about Summer, now that she was dead? 

Scvott saw the change, and swiftly he added. “He went in, and about ten minutes later came out with Lord Ahriman and you. Ahriman was carrying…her, and we knew she was dead. I know how much she meant to you Julius, and I am deeply sorry. She meant a lot to all of us.”
Flynn now took the initiative, went over and hugged Julius before he could say or do anything. Scvott followed suit, and after a second so did Dyllion. The simple earnestness of their move banished the back cloud to the edge of Julius’s mind, and he felt like he could function again.

“Before anything else happens, I went down to the bunker to clean up yesterday. I brought these for you.” Julius’s bodyglove, his last letters, and something else. Her last letter, the one she had written to her brother.

“I think you can find a way of getting that to where it belongs.” Scvott said, more than a small hint of sadness in his eyes. “You of all people have the connections to ensure they take you seriously and receive it.”

“On a different note, Lord Ahriman has summoned us. He wants to debrief us personally. We’re to meet him on board some legion frigate. Apparently it’s docked in the spaceport.” He looked over Julius, a smile plying at the edge of his lips. “I think you may want to get properly dressed before we go.” 

Only then did Julius notice his trousers were on the wrong way around. He retreated from the good natured laughing of his comrades, his friends, and readied himself for what was next. Gently he set her last letter down inside his kitbag, along with his stained bodyglove. He would get that letter to where it belonged, one way or another.




Ahzek Ahriman stood on the bridge of the Iron Tide, lost in thought. His armour was being repaired by several Techmarines from Prospero, and his heqa staff was being cleansed of any lingering daemonic taint. He had fully inspected the ship, and was confident there was nothing left of the foul touch of the Warpspawn who had attacked it during the incursion. It could carry the Daughters and their consorts from Fenris back to Terra. It would carry more than just them, if Julius decided so.

Thinking of Julius brought back the memories of what had happened down there, and how the woman he had been with had done what she had done. She had channelled something, tapped into something more powerful than Ahriman had seen before and using it banished the Daemon. 

The first figure to reach them down in the core afther the Daemon had died was surprisingly Lord Mortarion, who had been informed of the source of the taint by Captain Ir’sem. He had been debriefed by the Lord Primarch inside that fane, a singularly unpleasant experience he had no wish to repeat. He had then gently prised the dead woman off of Julius, who was holding her cooling corpse and sobbing like a child. Poor Julius, he doubted that the boy would be able to face Lady Lupercal now. He felt sorry, the boy was only seventeen and though he was very much his father’s son, he had been wounded in mind and soul by this war, a wound Ahriman had no ability to heal.

His Legion brothers had helped him identity the Daemon, one which personified Chaos as the meddler, the deceiver, the trickster. It could take the form of other beings, and that doubtless was how it had deployed the Deathstrike. It had probably manipulated the whole sequence of events which had brought the Hulk to Seadelant, and deep down in his mind Ahriman thought it might have been the one who had stirred up all that trouble after the Keiter shooting. He would have to inform Lord Magnus about that as soon as he had a chance. If the ‘Changeling’ could roam around Terra unopposed then nowhere would truly be safe from the malign touch of Chaos, not even at the heart of the Emperor’s realm.

Now that the Daemon was gone, his powers had returned. The doubts he had once held had been washed away, and for the first time in years he felt in control. He felt whole. Fractured visions of timelines yet to come shone through the veil of the empyrean, and Ahriman could once again see the echoes of futures yet to come. Right now they were in flux as the doom of Seadelant receded and the warp returned to normal. His future was assured, he had no worries now.

A Salamander fleet serf came up to him, and announced, “The people you wished to see, my Lord.”

Ahriman dismissed him as the others came in.

“Welcome,” said Ahriman, modulating his accent to a more natural, fluid tone. Last time they had heard him was in the throes of anger, and he had doubtless left a mark he now had to erase. “Please, sit.”

Gratefully the four of them sat down.

“Now, you know why you are here. Doubtless Julius would have mentioned how these things work on the way here. Though last time he was ‘debriefed’, it was the Emperor himself who imposed the verdict, not me.” They all turned to stare at Julius, who shrank from their collective gaze. The memory was still too harsh for him, and Ahriman could hardly blame him. Even he was still stinging from the Emperor’s fury, unleashed that day.

“I’ll make it simple. Only you know about the Daemon which was pulling the strings, and it must stay with you. You must all swear to silence about what the Daemon was really up too, how it wanted to turn this planet into a hell-world. If you break this oath, then your lives will be forfeit. Do you understand?” Ahriman projected a small measure of fire into his aura, just enough to reinforce his words. They all got the message.

“Hold your right hands up, and repeat after me: ‘In the name of the Emperor of Mankind, the guardian against the fell powers of the Warp, I swear that what secrets I know will stay with me forever more.”

They repeated the words, Julius only reluctantly, and they were done.

“We’re finished. The bar downstairs is open if you’d like, and I happen to know they have some Tanith Whiskey.” Flynn’s eyes lit up at the mention, and eagerly he gestured at the door.

“Before you go though, I have something for you.” Ahriman reached down for something Lord Mortation had given him at the awards ceremony.
 
He reached out and opened his fist. In the palm of his massive hand were five medals stamped in silver.

“By your actions was Seadelant saved, and I’m sorry no-one will ever know the truth of how you alerted us to the Daemonic presence. But you can show these to your children, and say you did your part to save your homeworld. I’m proud of all of you for willingly risking death every day to try and help us from behind enemy lines. I’m sorry that one of these has to be posthumous, which one of you will take it?”

Julius all but reached over and snatched it. It would be Julius.

As they all got up to go, Ahriman added. “Julius, stay. I need to speak with you alone.”
Julius sat back down.

“Julius, I know how much this must be hurting you, but what your friend did, it must never leave Seadelant, ever. Only you, I and Lord Mortarion know what she did, and it must remain between us. If news of how she banished a Daemon got out, it would invigorate those who believe in her…falsities.” Julius could barely hide his scowl.

“She saved you ser. She saved me, she saved this entire planet. Her beliefs shouldn’t be taken into account, do you take mine?”

“Your beliefs don’t violate the Imperial Creed. Hers did.”

“The Imperial Creed is full of shite ser. It’s flawed from top to bottom. People like her are just loyal as the average citizen, even more. There are none more devoted to the Imperium…”

“Julius, stop. I don’t want to have to force you to keep quiet, but I will if necessary. Lord Mortarion has charged me with ensuring that this never gets out, and I obey. Do you want me to have to mindlock you?” Ahriman knew that the Emperor had been displeased with him tampering with the mind of any of his citizens, but Lord Mortarion had promised he would explain to the Emperor the situation when they returned to Terra. Julius glared angrily, but he held his tongue. Ahriman changed the subject.

“Now that all of this is done, we need to discuss what you’re going to do next. Obviously the recent events have upset your plans. You now have two options open. First, you can travel on the Iron Tide, its returning straight to Terra via Fenris. You’ll be able to travel with friends of yours and see everyone off before they go to College.

“On the other hand, the Ultramarine Frigate Sanctity of Saramanth is returning to Ultramar, and its first stop is Calth. If you want to head there as per your original travel plans, it leaves tomorrow. Note by the time you return to Terra, everyone will be gone to College. You won’t see anyone you know for the short time you will be on Terra. You won’t see her.”

He didn’t have to mention her name. He was hurting enough, and Ahriman could clearly sense that he was about to face a major decision regarding her in the near future.

“I understand ser. I don’t think I can face any of them. Not yet.”

Ahriman nodded. The Sanctity of Saramanth it is then.

“And what are you doing ser?” Julius asked.

“Returning to Terra. My mind and soul are cleansed, and I can see that Lord Curze wants to see me. We still have unfinished business with the Babu Dhakal.”

Julius nodded, still unhappy and took his leave. As he went, Ahriman idly searched the strings of fate to see his future, but as he probed deeper he found they were dark and tangled. His own future might be clear now, but Julius was now sliding down a slippery slope to darkness and Ahriman could do little to help. Julius would have to rise or fall on his own.

===The Iron Tide===
The bar of the Iron Tide was full fit to burst. Troopers from the Perdix Hunters rubbed shoulders with the Byzant Janizars in their ornate white uniforms, and clusters of Tanith troopers loudly sang drunken songs from their homeworld beside navy personnel from the other ships docked in the port. Flynn smiled at the antics of his kin, humming the tunes they were singing. Julius was already regretting taking Flynn up on his offer of drinks for their little band, but it was too late to back out now. Fortunately there were several seats free at the Bar, and one by one they sat down.

Flynn gestured to the man behind the bar, who had a Lieutenant’s bars on his shoulders. “Four shots of Tanith Whiskey. I know you have some, my kin wouldn’t be quite so happy if you didn’t. And make it the strong type.”

The Lieutenant smiled ruefully and poured four glasses, handing them to Flynn, who passed them along.

“For Summer.” Scvott intoned, lifting his glass.

“For Summer!” they replied, and downed their drinks. Julius felt the Tanith whiskey burn his throat as it ran down, and he nearly choked. But a solid whack on the back by Dyllion saved him further embarrassment.

Flynn turned to see Julius morosely staring into the bottom of his glass. “She won’t be forgotten Oll. We won’t forget her.” Flynn said.

“Oll?”

“Sorry, old habits die hard. Julius. Dammit, thirty days of calling you Oll and you’re bloody false name is stuck in my mind.”

“Julius? Are you Pius by any chance? Julius Pius?” the Lieutenant at the bar suddenly asked.

“What’s that to you?” Julius snapped. The last thing he needed now were people recognising him.

The youthful bartender nodded his head once, as if in confirmation. "Because I suspect you went to school with five of my best customers." Julius stared.

"You're kidding. Venus, Remilia Dorn, Jacob Seager, Alex Carlin, and Freya Russ?" Kines grinned. "They get around. Is this not the smallest galaxy, or what?" he asked, neatly diverting Julius' building sulk.

Sulky and morose though he might be, Julius immediately felt bad at his outburst. “My apologies for my tone of voice ser. I did not know what ship they were travelling on, save that it was from the XVIII Legion.”

"I'm just a Junior Lieutenant; nobody calls me Sir unless they want a discount,"

“You’re a commissioned officer in the Legion Fleets, whereas I am a civilian. You are ser to me. Now, can I have another drink?”

The Lieutenant smiled as he poured another drink for the four of them. By the time they reached their third, Julius knew the Lieutenant’s name: Charles Kines. He seemed an easygoing person, and he laughed loudly at some of Flynn’s more bawdy jokes. Scvott and Dyllion joined in, and soon Flynn was relating a famed Tanith folk-take about a bear and a maiden which had the others in stitches.

Julius wanted to enjoy himself and share in the fun, but he couldn’t shake off the black cloud which still hung over him. He felt like the only one there who couldn’t erase his bad mood. He needed a distraction, he needed to know that someone somewhere was having a good time, and as he sipped his latest drink, he had lost count of how many he had consumed, an idea slowly began to form.

“Off duty?” Julius asked the Lieutenant as he pulled his navy-issue coat over his shoulders.
“Short break, letting the other guy take over. I’ve been on duty for the last nine hours, and I have sold over half the ship’s total alcohol store.”

“Care to have one on me ser?” Julius asked, trying to add extra meaning to his voice.

“I don’t drink on duty, and you can stop calling me sir. I’m not the captain.”

“You still outrank me, so you are ser.”

“Jake never called me sir.”

“Well, Jake’s never had the proper respect for military authority. Next time you see him, tell him that I call you ser, and if I do then he should as well.”

Kines stifled a laugh, and got up, making a subtle gesture to Julius. Julius excused himself, and followed the Lieutenant to a nearby empty stall.

“What do you want Julius?” Kines asked once they had sat down.

“Frankly ser, I need something to cheer me up. I’ve been through hell, spent most of the war hiding underground as a partisan in the Ork infested outer city, and now I can’t shake this infernal gloom. I want to know about what everyone has been doing. Remilia, Venus, Jake, Freya, even Alex. Tell me everything ser.”

Kines obliged, and began with their first visit to the bar on the first day of their trip. Julius listened intently, slowly sipping on his latest glass of amasec. The Lieutenant was a good storyteller, and Julius found himself entranced by his tales.

When Kines reached the second leg of the journey, from Nocturne to Fenris, Julius began to notice the mini-pause and the small catch in his voice every time he was talking about Remilia. Julius might have been somewhat tipsy, but his ‘sight’ still worked, and slowly he put the pieces together. 

Finally he decided to confirm his suspicions. "You'll never guess who my chemistry lab partner was? 

“Who?”

“She’s someone very close to me, a sister in all but name. Here's a hint for you: she prefers orange soda.”

His eyes widened, and Julius smiled at him. “Don’t worry Lieutenant, my lips are sealed. They obviously never told you about my ‘sight’; how I see things people try to hide. No, I'm no psyker, it's just a little talent I have.  I’m glad you’re making Remilia happy; she needs it after what she’s been through. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.” He let the matter slide, and he knew Kines understood.

“I have to go back on duty now, but thank you for the drink.” Kines carefully said. They both returned to the bar, where Julius could see the other three were inebriated. For that matter, Julius felt his head swimming and his sense of balance was slightly off. He had never drunk this much before, and it told.

“Is there any Orange Soda left?” he asked Kines.

“One bottle.”

“Right then.” Julius handed over several thrones, and then stopped Kines as he reached to hand it over. “No, hide it away. It’s a gift for a certain someone, I think you know who.”
Kines smiled as he stowed the bottle away. 

The night blurred after that, and Julius could no longer remember any concrete details until they went to leave, close to midnight. As they trooped out, Julius turned back to Kines and managed to force out, “Thank you very much ser, for the first time in weeks I feel almost human again.” He didn’t know if it was him or the alcohol talking, but the farewell salute from Kines made him feel better for his slurred words.

They dropped him back off at his hab, and the first thing Julius did was race for the bathroom as his stomach heaved. He had drunk far too much; he never wanted to do that again.
That night the nightmares began.

===Calth===
Calth. A beautiful world, one of the jewels of the thousand worlds of Ultramar. One of the master worlds of the Ultramar sector. One of the anchor points of the new civilisation. An embodiment of the reward that the millennia of warfare waged by man had finally lead to.

Home.

Julius stood on the rockcrete landing platform of Numinus City Starport and sniffed the air. It smelled good, it smelled pure. Nothing like the ever-present whiff of the pollutants which permeate Terra’s air, something Terrans never noticed until they went offworld and realised what a shithole the Throneworld truly is. Julius was surprised at his own attitude towards the world he had called home for over sixteen years. But then, the circumstances of his leaving may have had something to do with it.

Calth’s sun, Veridia, sat like a blue-white pearl in the pale sky. Off to one side, rising like a moon was Calth’s projected superorbital plate, a symbol of its importance. Only the master worlds of the Imperium have plates. Terra of course has them, so too does Macragge, Inwit, Chemos and Cadia.

In the distance, huge semi-auto hoists and cranes, some of them looking like quadruped Titans, busily transferred cargo stacks to giant bulk lifters on the field as the fruit of Calth’s industrial output was shipped across Ultima Segmentum. Once Julius would have been fascinated by what was going on all around him, but times change. People change.

From afar, Julius still looked the same as he had before Seadelant, but once you got close to him you saw the haunted look in his eyes, the empty stare and the rings around his eyes which denoted sleeplessness. The Nightmare which had first come after his bout of drinking on the Iron Tide had come again, and again, and again. Nine times he had woken up screaming bloody murder during the trip from Seadelant to Calth. Nine times she had died again in his arms, and he had been powerless to save her. The dreams were so real it was living the whole experience time and time again, each time knowing the outcome but being helpless to change it, for it had already happened. He was glad he had foregone returning straight to Terra on the Iron Tide, he wouldn’t want to explain his nightmares to his friends, how he now feared to sleep for the fear of those nightmares, how he was thinking of drastic measures to stop them from happening.

He had dozens of messages from Terra, from his friends, and he hadn’t looked at a single one. He wanted time alone, to get away from them. He needed to be ready before he could face any of them. He only wished he knew what he needed to be ready for.

Around him the crew of the Sanctity of Saramanth chattered and laughed as they departed for some well earned shore leave. It was a strange experience, hearing people speaking on Calth. Though he had lived on Terra all his life, his voice had stubbornly maintained a Calthite lit, and now instead of being the only person who spoke it, almost everyone did. Hearing it spoken by everyone was a novel experience, one he wished he could feel more at ease with.

There was plenty he had wanted to squeeze into the ten days he had originally planned to spend on Calth. Visiting the Holophusikon, touring Numinus City and seeing medicae block IF-01 where he had been born and the rugged wilds of the southern hemisphere of Calth. Now he only had two days planetside before he was to board a transport back to Terra, two days to try and find the answers he had left Terra to seek.

In truth, he did not want to go back to Terra. After what he had just gone through, how could he return to Terra, as if none of it had happened? How could he face anyone? How could he tell them about what had happened to him? How could he tell her about the woman he met, the woman who made him shatter his oaths, and who died to save him? He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to face it. All he wanted was for his problems to just go away.
It was 09:51 local time, and he had all day free. There was one reason he had wanted to come to Calth in the first place, and despite the external hell he had gone through on Seadelant and the personal hell he now found himself in, he would do this one thing, he would go home.

The estuary at Neride was one of the most fertile places on the planet, the stink of beets and cabbage strong in the humid air. His father had chosen his land well. Forty acres of good land to farm, to grow Swartgrass, flowers and vegetables for Ultramar. But then Lord Guilliman had come with his offer, and Oll had accepted it. Now his house was rented out to a migrant family from Praetoria. They paid the rent on time, and had offered to let Julius stay with them for his time on Calth. Julius had politely declined. He needed to be alone.
Julius paid the Taxaiman and waved him off. He would be back in four hours to pick Julius up, easily enough time to get everything done.

The Little Chapel sat mournfully on the edge of the Swartgrass fields. Julius had seen plenty of pictures of it, but his breath caught when he saw it in person. It was there that his parents were married, where he was christened, and where his mother now lay.

The doors creaked open as Julius went in, the strip of light from outside illuminating the insides. Once Julius would have crossed himself before entering, but this time he just shambled in and made a beeline straight for an alcove in the western wall. Set in the alcove was a stone, words carved into it. Quietly he repeated them to himself.

‘In loving memory of Julia Marmora Pius, wife to Ollanius and mother to Julius. Taken before her time, sadly missed.’ Behind that stone was his mother’s ashes. He couldn’t remember her, but he had seen the picts and heard his father’s soft-spoken stories. Julia Marmora was a stylish and exotic beauty from the Talian peninsula who claimed she could trace her lineage to the Romanii Emperors of old. Her great grandfather, also named Julius had died fighting against Mad King Peshkein of Tali, one of the many barbarian warlords who had despoiled Terra before the coming of the Emperor. She had been a remembrancer during the Crusade, and like so many of them she had sought the ultimate prize, becoming the personal documentarist to the greatest mortal hero in the Galaxy, Ollanius Pius. And not only had she succeeded, but she had stolen his heart as well. She was a pious Catheric like he was, and they had bonded over their shared faith and his stories, and they began to lay plans for what they would do once the Crusade ended.

It was at that point in the story that his father’s voice started to crack up. During the last days of the crusade an attack by Ork fungus gas on a nameless world had ravaged her lungs and nearly killed her. His father had carried her off the battlefield. She had missed the Angelus Triumph, recovering in a hospital bed while Ollanius took part in the official end to millennia of warfare. They had chosen Calth to be their new home in part because the rich air was good for her, but she had wilted in the toxic atmosphere of Terra and died two years after they had moved there. 

He stared at that stone plaque for what seemed like an age. He had expected to be overwhelmed with a flood of emotion the moment he saw his mother’s resting place, but he couldn’t feel anything. Seadelant had burned everything out of him.

“She would be proud of you, the poor love.”

He looked over. A man stood in the doorway, backlit by the sun so Julius couldn’t see his face for shadow.

“Last time I saw you, you were still in diapers. How things change.”

The man entered the chapel. Now he could see him Julius saw a well-built man strong in the back and arms, with a very handsome face and grey hair. He wore his age like a regal cloak. Julius remembered his father talking about him.

“Are you John Grammaticus?”

“Yes, though you’d better call me John. My last name is a mouthful.” He sat down on one of the old wooden benches, facing Julius.

“My father told me you might be here.”

John smiled. “Your father and I were tight, back in the day. Anatol Hive. The Panpacific. We had some adventures, Oll and I. That was before he joined the army and went off on the Crusade. I’ve kept an eye on him since, and on you once you came on the scene. You don’t know how much of a fuss you caused just by being born. The first second generation.”
Julius stared at him. John continued, his words making no sense to Julius.

“We’re sterile. He gave us our gifts, but we could never pass them on. And then you came along. They’re still debating what role you’ll play, but regardless it will be huge. Your fate is forever entwined with theirs, like it or not.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about ser.” John didn’t seem to hear him.

“But of course, after our first big failure, we don’t know what to think anymore. We thought the Acuity never lied, the first son would turn against his father and drown the stars in blood; undo all the seer strived to achieve.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Julius was getting tired of his senseless words.

“A future, dear boy. A future which never came to pass, and thank all under the heavens that it never did come to pass, else you, I, this place, hell almost nothing would remain. A grim dark future loomed, but never arrived, thanks to some quick witted individuals.” He gave a nervous laugh. “The problem is that we think too slowly, we take the long view, so when other individuals react fast we are left in the lurch. And no sooner did that happen then you came around, and the others. The heirs to the empire not tainted with the touch. And now we can’t make sense of it, what is supposed to happen now, what the great enemy will do now. We have been knocked off our bearings…”

Julius interrupted him. “Ser, I have no idea what any of that shite is supposed to mean, and frankly it sounds like a load of fug. Now what are you here for?”

John smiled bashfully. “Sorry, I have a habit of getting on a tangent, and it would be good for you if you remember at least some of that in the future. You will need it, eventually. No, I’m here for you.”

“For me? I don’t need your help ser.”

“Yes you bloody well do. It’s plain enough to see that you’re hurting badly. I know about Seadelant, you were caught up in a war not of your making, faced daily horrors and tribulations, and during the last hours saw monsters from the blackest depths of the Warp. Very few can come out of an experience like that unchanged, and it’s plain to see you are not one of those lucky few. For example, I noticed you didn’t cross yourself when you entered. Your father would never do that, he has always been pious and devoted. Did you forget? Or have you lost your faith?”

Julius glared at him, though he spoke the truth. He hadn’t prayed once since Summer had died, and Summer’s Aquila had replaced his Catheric Crux around his neck. His god hadn’t saved her, he had ignored Julius’s desires for his nightmares to end, and now he no longer felt he could believe in Him anymore. He was cast adrift in an uncaring universe.

“My faith or lack of it is none of your concern ser.” He snapped. “More importantly, how the hell do you know about what happened on Seadelant? They’ve ordered the details suppressed so no-one knows about the hell-spawn.” His suspicions about John Grammaticus were growing by the minute.

“I know a lot of things Julius, and don’t think you can worm your way out of this. Why are there bags under your eyes? Are you afraid of sleeping?”

Julius scowled at John; he was reading him like a book. “You really want to know how I feel? You really want to know how fucked up I am? Fine. Shell Shock, Combat Fatigue, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, call it what you want, I have all the signs. Nightmares which feel so real it’s like I’m reliving the event all over again. Nightmares which leave me screaming. I fear to sleep because of those nightmares.”

“And what event is it you keep on seeing?”

Julius didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to say her name for fear it would all come rushing back to him. But under John’s piercing stare, he finally admitted, “There was someone. Someone who I came to care very deeply for. And she died.”

“She? That’s interesting. Did you come to have an emotional bond with this woman, and is that why she haunts you now?”

His words were uncomfortably close to the mark, but the lack of reverence stung Julius. How could he speak of her like that?

“She was more than just that, ser. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have survived that hell. She died to save me, to save the entire fucking planet, and what did they do? They suppressed it. No-one will ever know of her sacrifice, no-one will ever know how she banished a daemon with nothing but her faith and saved Seadelant. Her parents disowned her, they don’t care that she’s dead. Only I care, only I still bear her memory. She changed my attitude towards those who worship the God-Emperor. Summer taught me that they are no less citizens of this Imperium than anyone else, and their faith can kill daemons.”

“Summer, that was her name?”

“Yes. Summer Lantsfalle.” It was the first time he had said her name aloud since the Iron Tide, forty days ago.

“Lantsfalle,” He mused. He let the name pass without comment. “She must have been very special, and I’m sorry for your loss. You know the Emperor will not take too kindly to you standing up for those who deify Him. Are you willing to accept the consequences of that?”

“Yes. He will never stop people from worshipping Him, even if he purges the Galaxy from one side to the other. It’s high time he accepts that fact, and accepts that he has an obligation to all his subjects, including those who see him as a living god.”

“But you still hurt. There’s something else, isn’t there?” John’s words pierced Julius.

“Yes, I still hurt. And it’s bloody unfair.” He finally snapped, glaring at John.

“I know that look; that sod you look. Your father often wore it when he got aggravated with me. You truly are your father’s son.” said Grammaticus with a grin.

“No I’m not. My father would not feel the way I feel. He fought in the Great Crusade from beginning to end and he survived it perfectly intact. I fight in a war for one month and I end up broken in mind and soul. How fair is that? How can he go for centuries without a spot on his mind, and I go for thirty days and become torn and haunted?”

“Have you ever talked with your father about this? About PTSD? He may surprise you. He’s been through hell more times than you or I can count, seen things which would rob a normal man of his sanity, and he’s not always walked away from it without a scratch.”

“That’s not all. During the fighting, Summer and I…we became close.” The other matter, the matter which he didn’t want to confront at all. He didn’t even know why he was mentioning it to John, but he couldn’t stop himself. His father had always said that John had an ability to charm his way into or out of anything, and it seemed he had worked his majic on Julius. He peered intently at the worn teenager, his gaze almost hypnotic. “And by that, do you mean you…?”

“Yes, bloody yes!” it felt good to get it out there, to just let it all go.

“Did you lose your faith even before you came here? I though as a Catheric you would be sworn to celibacy like your father was before he was married?”

“No, my faith was intact when I did it. That makes it all the more worse. Ever since the shooting on Terra, my life has gone to hell in a handbasket. First I nearly got the girl I love killed in a stupid move, then I broke my religious oaths. Not because I’m undisciplined, but because twice I allowed myself to replace oaths with emotion, something I swore never to do. Emotion gets you killed in battle, and it’s nearly done with me.”

“Julius, you cannot blame yourself for all this. Everyone makes mistakes, your father, me, hell even the Emperor. The emotional avalanche you had been buried under since all this began has lead one thing to another and eventually the dam burst.”

“That’s not the problem John. You know what the real problem is? I’ve seen what PTSD has done to veterans, I’ve grown up alongside them all my life, and I don’t want go through that dark tunnel. I don’t want to end up a drunken wreck. I don’t want to force away everyone who I care for, and who cares for me. I don’t want to find drastic solutions to stop the pain, but I can see no way out of this.” It came rushing out like a flood, a flood of grief and pain.

“You know what my last nightmare was? It was the day I broke my vows with her, when my oaths were overcome by my emotions. I dreamed that she died as we lay together, that she grew cold upon me, and I felt the fire go out of her while still inside her. Do you know what that’s like? Do you?”

John’s unwavering stare, betraying no emotion filled Julius with fury. He wanted to be done with this. “Now if you’ll excuse me ser, I’m leaving.”

As he opened the door to leave, John called out. “You don’t want to return to Terra, do you?” Julius stopped dead and stared at him.

“How the hell do you know? Are you a psyker, John Grammaticus? Can you see inside my bloody head?”

John shook his head. “No more than anyone else can. I can see things, just like your father can, just like you can. I know you’ve seen inside the Emperor; you like me know what a bloodthirsty bastard he really is. It’s a skill some of us have. All I’m doing is seeing the pain you’re bearing and trying to make you confront it. You will never be free of it if you run away from it forever. You have to return to Terra, you have to confront it, if you are ever to move on.”

“I appreciate your sentiment ser, but how the hell would you know?”

“I spent eighteen years in an asylum because I tried to explain something which only I knew. I was locked away because people couldn’t see what I saw. That experience left scars for a long time, even now I still get uncontrollable shivers each time I see a barred window.” This time there was bitterness in John’s voice, the first taste of emotion. “But your father helped me escape, and he helped me overcome the trauma. If I can survive it, then you can as well. Go home and tell your father everything. Even if you see no-one else, you owe that much to him. It’s what your mother would have wanted.”

“You met my mother?”

“Once, before your parents met, when she was covering the one hundred fortieth expeditionary fleet. She was a beauty, olive skinned and stylish. All the men fawned over her. She was bragging how she would be the first to cover the famed Ollanius Pius, the first to get his stories. Your father hated the remembrancers, he claimed they ignored the common soldiers and their sacrifice. What struck me most about your mother was how much she was hiding, how her public face was so different from her private one. It took your father to uncover her hidden depths. You may be your father’s son, but there is plenty of your mother in you too.”

Julius could see the sense in his words, but he was still reluctant to go back, and he had other things to worry about as well.
“I have one obligation left before I can go to Terra. Before she died, Summer wrote a letter to her younger brother. I will see it delivered, I owe that much to her and more. I will ensure her last letter and her medal gets to him no matter how far I have to go, though I don’t know where to start looking.”

“I don’t know where the Lantsfalle’s are now, but I know where they’ll be in a month or so. Terra.”

“Terra? How do you know?” Julius demanded.

“Haven’t you been paying attention to the news boy? The representative of the Chartist Captains had a heart attack and died. He has been replaced. The Lantsfalle’s will damn well do anything to ensure the new representative is their man and amenable to their interests, so they will head to Terra with all speed.”

Julius’s back stiffened as the way forward became clear. He now knew that no matter his own personal misgivings, he had to return to Terra. For Summer’s sake, if no-one else’s.

“Julius, for your father’s sake and yours, don’t try to solve this on your own. Get help, real help, while you’re on Terra. They have organisations which cater for PTSD on Terra, get the best treatment you can. Don’t let yourself be overcome, don’t surrender to the pain.”

Before he left, he turned back towards John. “Thank you ser, for making me feel better. My father was right about you, you do have a good heart.”

As Julius disappeared, John breathed “I wish he were right Julius. For both your sakes.”

That night, Julius realised what he was about to do, where he was going, and he drank the minibar in his hotel room dry. The Nightmares still came.

===You Can't Go Home Again===
After a hundred and thirty four days, Terra once again loomed large before Julius. The grey dead hulk of a world had never looked more unwelcoming then it did now. He wouldn’t be here long, just long enough to ensure the letter got to whom it was written for, and then he would leave for the IMA and the next stage of his life. If he could still go there without having a breakdown every time they mentioned the cost of war.

He stood on the observation deck of the Renald, a medium sized trader which regularly made the run between Calth and Terra. His journey had been unpleasant, but that was not the fault of the ship, or its crew. No, his descent into despair had not been stopped by his talk with John Grammaticus, only slowed, and the Nightmares assailed him time and time again. The crew stared at him every time he went past; though he had a cabin all of his own unlike the Sanctity of Saramanth it wasn’t soundproofed, and his nightly screaming matches were heard by all aboard.

As he watched the ship manoeuvre into docking position, he rubbed his forehead. His head throbbed dully; the legacy of the previous night’s drinking. Julius had never been one for alcohol before, but now he was drinking heavily, anything to numb the pain and stop the nightmares. The crew had turned a blind eye to his age, when he was plastered he didn’t wake half the crew with his screaming. A morning with a roaring hangover was infinitely preferable to a night of blood and death. He hated himself for succumbing to the drink, but then he hated himself for a lot now. What was one more thing to the tally? One thing he did worry about was that the moment he landed Terra-firma he would no longer have quite so easy access to drink, as a seventeen year old minor. How would he get his fix and keep the nightmares at bay?

Low-orbit traffic above Terra, as always was lousy with hundreds of ships jostling for space. Endless queues of lifter-boats, heavy-duty bulk tenders and system monitors held station in the wash of augur-fogging electromagnetics and engine flare from the heavier vessels as system pilots manoeuvred them towards the superorbital plates for refuelling, re-arming and supply.

Julius felt even worse now that he had returned, and received the news. Furia had run away, cut and run from Terra into the wider Galaxy. Isis had taken Furia under her wing during those last few weeks, she would be devastated. After that, how could he make things even worse for her by revealing his sundered oaths and PTSD? No, it would be better for the both of them if he just stayed away.

“Update: berthing docket inloading,” the tinny, mechanical voice came over the ships’ PA. “One hundred minutes until our allotted berth is available.”

Every one of those hundred minutes felt like agony as they passed at a snail’s pace. Finally the ship shuddered as it docked with the Gondavana, one of Terra’s Superorbital Plates and Julius went to collect his things. After fifty days on this ship, he was glad to be getting off, even if he would have to face hell and worse down on Terra.

The trip from Gondavana to Lion’s Gate Spaceport outside the palace came and went in a flash, and the hoverbus trip from there to Startseite went bye even quicker. He hadn’t contacted or spoken with anyone since Seadelant, so no-one knew he was back. Even if they did know, they were all busy elsewhere, so he wouldn’t have been given a warm reception the way he expected Venus, Freya and Remilia were greeted when they returned to Terra. But then, they weren’t shell shocked veterans who had become raging alcoholics.

Finally he was standing outside a modest hab in the uptown area of Startseite. Home, though it didn’t feel much like home anymore. 
For a few minutes he did nothing but stare at the door, his mind blank. Finally he reached over and opened the door. Ollanius was in the kitchen, and he turned to see his son standing in the doorway.

“Father.” Julius said as he took a step inside.

“Son.” Oll replied. For a few seconds they just stared at one another, until Oll suddenly walked over and embraced Julius. “I’m so glad you’re safe. When the news came through that you were trapped on that world…”

“I survived.” And I wish I had survived intact like you would have, but there we go. I’m now a drunken wreck who’s been scarred for life by a single bloody month of combat. Julius was tempted to say that, to let spill some of his bitterness, but he didn’t. He just stood there, meekly accepting his father’s warm greeting. He broke it off and ushered Julius inside.

“Are you going to let her know you’re back?” his first question to him, hardly surprising. Julius slowly nodded. He would have to; there was no escaping it now. Even if he didn’t, someone else would tell her he was back before long. He sincerely hoped she couldn’t or wouldn’t want to see him, that her college workload would preclude her from leaving.

Briefly he glanced over that the mag-calender hanging on the wall. The date on the calendar read 0 3410 447 M34. The daughters and their boyfriends had all gone to College over a month and a half ago, and by now would be well into their first year of study. They were gone from his life. Was Isis gone as well? For her sake, he hoped so. He would not to saddle her with his problems, not when she had enough of her own.

Briefly Oll summarised what had happened on Terra since he had gone. Their Priest, Pulandio had gone to Hy Brasil to rest and recuperate from the near fatal beating he had suffered at the height of the Keiter affair and Oll had taken over, though he freely admitted he was no orator and his rather awkward delivery of the sermons left a lot to be desired. Something about elections and the death of the representative of the Chartist Captains, and of course the fact that all the daughters had gone off. Julius half-listened without paying attention, wondering how he would be able to stop the nightmares that would inevitably come tonight. His father’s drinks cabinet was locked tight, and Julius didn’t know where the key was. He would have to go tonight without drinking, which did not make Julius’s mood any better.

He picked at his food and ate little, and he went to bed as fast as he could. He tried to stay up and read for as long as possible, but the jaws of sleep eventually claimed him.
The Nightmare came again that night, and the evening was torn by Julius’s desperate yells. He was jarred awake, and for a second he lay there, staring into space. Another night dominated by dreams of hell and death, of her last words to him and the feeling of her warm body going cold as he held it and screamed to the heavens. He dearly wanted a drink at that moment, something to take the edge off.

There was a knocking on the door, soft but firm. A crack of light striped across the bed, and Julius turned to see his father silhouetted in the doorway.
“Julius is everything alright?” he asked.

Julius wanted to yell out, ‘yes father, everything’s fucking alright. I’m just a nut-case who can’t get over the death of the woman who stole my heart and shattered my vows. No father, I’m fucking fine’, but reality prevailed. He just said. “It was just a bad dream. These things happen.”

Oll didn’t leave. He stood there, veiled in shadow. “It wasn’t the first time, was it?” he asked. “You’ve been having nightmares ever since you left Seadelant, haven’t you?”

His words rammed home, and Julius groggily pulled himself upright to face his father. “So what if I have?” his words were more bitter then he’d intended.

Oll nodded. “Julius, come with me. I think we need to have a little talk.”

Julius pulled himself up and followed his father out to the living room. Oll sat down, and beckoned for Julius to sit beside him. For a few seconds they didn’t say anything, a vast gulf between them. Finally Oll broke the silence.

“You’re hurting. Don’t deny it; I’ve seen it happen too many times before. A piece of your soul has been torn out.” Julius did not reply. The tense silence filled the room before Oll added. “You’ve been drinking. I smelt it on your breath from the moment you walked in the door.” 

His blunt statement felt like a condemnation, and Julius scrambled to defend himself.
“Why do you care? I know you don’t approve, but…”

“Of course I disapprove. Drinking doesn’t solve the problem; it doesn’t even make it better. No, it only masks it for a short time. I’ve seen it a thousand times before.”

“It’s the only thing which lets me sleep without the nightmares!”

“I’ve heard that one before as well, and you know as well as I do that that’s a lie. Not a single drop of alcohol will pass your lips while you’re under this roof. Understood?”

Julius scowled at his father. How the hell would he know? He wasn’t the one whose world was coming apart at the seams. He wasn’t the one who was hurting every single day.

“Julius, what happened on Seadelant to leave you so angry and despondent?”

Julius didn’t reply. He just stared into space. Oll pressed him.

“You’re going to have to tell me son, if I am to help you. I know it will hurt, but that hurt will only get worse if you keep it bottled up like that. It will get worse and worse, until all you can do is try to end it all, and that is a sin. Let it out now, just let it go.”

His father spoke the truth. The whole time he had spoken the truth, no matter how much it hurt. Julius slowly began with when the Hulk first appeared in the skies over Seadelant, and how he had signed up for the CDA. He left nothing out, he spoke of how he had unmasked Summer as a follower of the God-Emperor, how he had sworn to keep her secret. He spoke of the fall of the walls and living underground where they lived in fear of discovery and death. He spoke of how he had gotten close to Summer, and how he had finally betrayed his oaths and sundered his vows with her. As he did he looked at his father, expecting anger or disappointment, but his father’s expression didn’t change one bit, it remained kindly but piercing, his eyes the same vivid blue as Julius’s own. Julius spoke of the Daemon, of his last night with Summer, of their suicide mission to send warning to the Inner City. 

Julius found the story consuming him like fire consumes paper, swallowing him up. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t stop now. The arrival of the Legions, the Ork assault, the Daemonic Incursion and the Brass scorpion, all of it tumbled out in a wave of emotion. Finally his voice choked up as he forced himself to confront the final chapter of the story, the Bunker. Not caring about what he had told Ahriman, he told his father of the fight, of how Summer had banished the Daemon with her faith, and how she had died in his arms. He could barely speak by the time he was done, but he had to finish, had to get the last of it out.

“My shame is complete father. God has abandoned me and rightly so. I betrayed the woman I love, and then the other woman I came to love died in my arms. After that I don’t deserve a happy ending. After that I deserve everything that has happened to me. I am a mess and I will never be free of this, I will never erase this stain on my character.”

Not a word passed Oll’s lips, not a single comment at the tale Julius had just told, and he felt his ire rising. “How did you ever survive this hell father? The whole Crusade and you never broke once. One month and I shattered like glass. Why?!” He all but spat out.

Oll fingered the onyx-and-gold Ullanor Triumph Bar he always wore, a legacy of his glorious service. 

"My son, there’s a saying as old as war itself. ‘In war, there are no unwounded soldiers,’ and I am no exception. I’ve been through what you’re going through before. I’ve had shell-shock before.”

His revelation stunned Julius. “What? When?”

“It was on the planet designated seventeen-nine early in the Crusade. We were fighting heathens allied with the darker powers who had enslaved that world. There was a close friend of mine, his name was Petch. He was a Merican from Nouva Yourk, he never quit and he was almost insanely brave. He wanted to serve his term, head home and start a family. He saved my arse more times than I could count on that forsaken world. Then came the day where he shielded me from an artillery shell and was nearly torn in two. He lay there in front of me; just a torso with his legs and one of his arms gone and half his face torn off and he asked me to give him mercy. I had nightmares after that, nightmares about what I’d done. I felt guilty he had died and I had survived. I stopped praying, I felt God had abandoned me, if we weren’t in the front line continuously I would have started drinking. As it turned out I drank illegal moonshine every chance I got and hated myself for doing so.” Julius’s eyes widened.

“We had an abhuman auxiliary unit attached at the time, the Barakak third, and I ended up paired with one of their Ogryn warriors. I had one of my nightmares one night while we were on patrol, and he asked me why I was screaming. I rather nastily told him the whole thing, and he said that he’d lost his best friend as well, on the same day it turned out. Hell-Spawn killed him, burned him alive. And yet the Ogryn was not sad, did not feel crushed the way I did. When I asked him why, he said that his friend ‘was a good soldier for the Emperor, and now he's with the Emperor.’ He told me he did not weep for his friend because he was with the Emperor now. He wept for himself because he had been left behind.”

“His faith opened my eyes, made me realise what true faith looked like. His simple devotion was more real than any scripture or verse I’d ever read. After that I re-connected with my faith, went and sought counselling help to deal with my nightmares. The Campaign ended soon afterwards, and the Barakak third were sent elsewhere to help some other Imperial force. I never saw that Ogryn again, though I prayed heavily for him and have never forgotten what he did for me. I hope he survived and got to go home again.”

“Who was this Ogryn?” Julius asked.

“Gav.” Oll said softly. “His name was Gav.” Oll smiled. “I wanted to name you after him, but Julia refused. She was adamant you would be named for that atavus of hers who fought the Mad King of Tali, and no-one could ever win an argument with her. Your mother was stubborn as a mule.”

Julius held back a laugh.

“You’re not flawed for feeling the way you do Julius. We are after all only human, not demigods made flesh like the Astartes and the Primarchs, or the daughters for that matter. We can’t survive such trauma untouched. You saw death and were reminded of your own mortality, and you needed to cope with that horrific fact. What happened with you and this lady you met, it was natural. You coped with the horror of an alien invasion and the death which surrounded you by finding a little peace and warmth. She needed you, and you responded to that need. You should not be ashamed that your oaths fell by the wayside, stronger men than you or I have tried and failed to keep to their oaths in similar situations before. God had not abandoned you, He will be waiting for you when you return to Him with open arms.”

Julius still hadn’t asked the big question. “How can I face her after all this? I’m not the same person who fled Terra over four months ago. And I’ve heard the news about Lady Furia; I can’t dump my troubles on her as well. The cousin she took under her wing cuts and flees from Terra, and then her boyfriend returns a shattered wreck that happened to cheat on her despite his vows? I can’t do that to her, I can’t be that callous.”

Oll shook his head. “You owe it to her to tell her the truth, no matter the situation. Would you leave her in the lurch, wondering why you didn’t try to see her while you were here? Would you make her feel even worse, when her companion refused to even try and see her after what she’s been through? I raised you to be better than that my son. What happened with Lady Furia will be hurting her, and she’s been worried about you the entire time you were on that planet and afterwards when you refused to contact her. She spoke with me just before she went to Kourtney, asking me to contact her the moment you returned planetside. I haven’t done so yet, but I will tomorrow. Even if it is over between you two, you owe her the truth, you owe her an explanation. Would you deny her that?”

Julius shook his head slowly and took a deep breath. “You remember that old song father, about that ancient war? It had that line ‘god help me, I was only nineteen’. I understand it now. God help me, I’m only seventeen.”

Oll laughed.

“I can’t fight your battles for you son. I can get you the help you need, but you will need the will to go through this, the will to want to be cured. You can’t change the past, you can’t wish all this away, but you can leave the past behind and get on with your life. You’re only seventeen; you have a whole life yet to live. It will be hell, reliving your experiences all over again in therapy but the pain will go away. It always goes away. We can delay your intake to the IMA if necessary until you feel fit enough to go. But we will worry about all this in the morning. Now go back to bed and try and get some sleep. Remember I am always here for you, no matter what.”

Oll led Julius back to bed, and for the first time since Seadelant Julius murmured a prayer to his god. The Nightmare lurked at the fringes of his mind, but it didn’t return that night.

===Confronting the Lantsfalle's===
Julius peered up at the Primus Gate, a colossal portal as high as a Warlord Titan and clad in damascened silver and lapis lazuli. The front entrance to the Imperial Palace, the gateway to the Emperor’s continental domain. Around him thousands of petitioners and supplicants gathered before the gate, patiently waiting their turn to pass through its towering magnificence. Not all would reach the lofty heart of the palace, and Julius hoped that he would be one of those who would get to pass. A Custodian armoured in all-encasing gold plate stood at the gate checking each and every person before they could be allowed to enter, his halberd always held at the ready. He had never entered the palace by the front entrance before, but surprisingly the simple act of standing among the milling crowd and waiting for his name to be called felt almost soothing. For a moment he could forget about his hurting and focus on the task at hand.

Once inside he would head for the guest wing and seek out the Lantsfalle family. He had it on good authority that they had arrived on Terra six days before he did, and they were involved in a series of high-level meetings with senior members of the Chartists, those who had the most to lose with the appointment of the new representative. This was the only chance he would get to ensure that they knew of their daughter’s sacrifice and of how much she meant to him.

Finally his name was called, and ignoring the ripples of shock from the crowd he made his way to the gate, where his genetic markers were verified by the Unified Biometric Verification System which all Custodes possessed.  Passing beneath the shadow of the Primus Gate took many hours of travel on foot, and once beyond the gate the magnificence of the palace proper began. The palace had been described as a continental landmass of unrivalled architectural brilliance, and the greatest work of man, and it was all that and much more.

Boarding one of the inner Palace monos, Julius sat down and idly peered out of the window as it set off for the guest wing. Their route took them over the Brahmaputra Plateau and the many sights which lay within, but Julius was too wrapped in his own thoughts about what he had set out to do to take much notice of his surroundings. He passed the Gallery of Winter, Upanizad’s Tomb, the Petitioner’s Hall, the Crystal Observatory and hundreds more of the wonders of the palace. He had seen most of them before; it didn’t bother him that he wouldn’t see them again. No, the only thing that mattered was his mission. As long as he had that to concentrate on, he could forget about his alcohol craving and his nightmares, forget about his uncertainty over the future, of the confrontation he knew was speeding towards him as fast as the mono he was travelling in. He shook his head, trying to shake away all those thoughts. No, he had to forget all that and do this, for Summer.

Finally after nearly two hours, a smooth voice came over the PA. “The Imperial Palace High-Security Guest Wing. Make sure all verification is in order before proceeding.” Julius checked the ident card his father had provided for him before stepping off the mono. 
Straight away he could see how tight the security was around here. A phalanx of soldiers in gleaming breastplates of ivory and jade kept watch on everyone who disembarked from the mono and another Custodian stood before the entrance way glaring over the new arrivals beneath his helm’s horsehair plume.

Julius was frisked before he would be allowed past, and he could barely conceal a scowl as he made his way into the depths of the guest wing. At the end of the hallway a massive grav-lift speared up to the uppermost levels of the guest wing, where the richest and most important people in the entire Imperium stayed. The Lantsfalle’s would be up there. 
Without hesitation Julius stepped into the lift and listened to the silent hiss as it began to ride the grav-field up to the roof of the world.

The corridors in the upper guest wing were panelled with off-world wood from the broadleaf forests of Yolaeu, the metallic surfaces of the ceiling edged with chased platinum and the walls inserted with smooth pict slates that displayed a rolling series of serene alien landscapes. The seats dotted here and there for weary travellers to rest in were plush amethyst velveteen. Everything screamed the absolute peak of luxury, and Julius felt like he was soiling them just by walking down them.

Finally he reached the wing where his father had informed him they would be staying. There were only a few residences here, and from what Summer had told him, they would doubtless pick the biggest.

He knew instantly when he reached the one they had chosen for their own. Maybe it was the gilded L which had been hung on the door, or the banner which hung above the door, or more likely it was the pair of bodyguard Servitors waiting outside.

For a while he just stood there, wondering what he was supposed to do. Wait for someone to show up? There was no buzzer or messaging system that he could see. The Servitors just stood there, staring blankly ahead behind black metal masks. Finally, frustrated he walked over to the door.

The instant he approached them the Servitor’s weapons snapped up and trained upon him, humming with activation. He had to say something before they shot him.

“My, uh, my name is Julius Pius, and I need to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Lantsfalle as soon as possible. It’s about their daughter, Summer.”

The Servitors didn’t move or acknowledge his words, and as several minutes passed he felt more and more foolish at speaking to the servitors, and was about to turn to go when the door hissed open.

A man in an impossibly neat suit stood there, a completely blank expression on his face.
“Your biometrics verify you as the son of Ollanius Pius. Can you confirm?” his voice was utterly neutral with no accent or inflection at all.

Julius held back a rather nasty curse. Was his entire life all about whose son he was? He answered as civilly as he could, “Yes, Ollanius Pius is my father. I was recently involved in the conflict on Seadelant as well. Now can I please come in?”

“Follow me.” The man said, and he turned and went inside, Julius following at a short distance. He didn’t want to be too close to the man, there was something about him which frightened Julius.

They emerged into a vast space, an entrance hall coloured in gold, silver and purple. A staircase led off to the second level, and several doors sat recessed into the walls. Julius stood there, warily eyeing the strange man. Again they were there for several minutes; the Lantsfalle’s appeared to love torturing their guests by forcing them to wait. He wished Summer had told him more about them. He continued to stare at the man, who did not even seem to be breathing. What was he?

“One of Lukas Chrom’s automatons. With skin added, its form is utterly indistinguishable from that of a human. It was a gift after we found that STC design for him buried beneath Neiopara. A wonder is it not?”

The voice was clear and full of authority. Julius whipped around to see in a man and a woman in almost matching grey suits. He could almost immediately see the family resemblance to Summer in the woman’s blonde hair and hazel eyes and the man’s round face. However neither of them had her warmth, they appeared cold as ice and aloof. They looked at him like he was an unusual type of insect, something they’d rather squish underfoot but wouldn’t…yet.

“Well met, Sieur Pius. I am Gregor Lantsfalle, and this is my wife Alezibeth.” He said, though his voice said anything but. “Now why are you here?”

Straight to business. Julius cleared his throat. “I’m here about your daughter ser.”

“We have no daughter.” They said in unison, as if they had been practising for this very occasion. Julius had expected that reply, but to hear it was still painful.

“Yes you do. Summer Lantsfalle, once heir to the Lantsfalle trade network.”

“She’s no daughter of ours, not anymore. What of her? If she thinks she can worm her way back into favour…”

“She’s dead ser. She served with me on Seadelant, and gave her life for the liberation of that world.”

If he expected a reaction, he was sorely disappointed. Their faces were as blank as their automaton. Julius stewed for a few second, before he let out, “Do you not have a heart? Your daughter is dead. Surely you should say something?”

“She’s no daughter of ours. She violated the Imperial Creed. She willingly gave up her rights to be called a Lantsfalle that day, and her death does not concern us now. If that’s all you’ve come here for, then you should go now.”

Julius was not about to leave just yet. He had expected this reaction from them, but there was one other thing. His task was not done.
“Is her brother here? I have something I need to give to him.”

“Give it to us, and we will ensure he gets it.”

Julius shook his head. “No, I wish to give it to him in person. I will not go until I see with my own two eyes that he’s received this.”

“He’s at lessons at the moment, and is not to be disturbed.”

“Not even to learn of the death of his sister? How can you be so heartless?”

“There is a difference between heartlessness and pragmatism Sieur Pius. We did not become one of the fifty richest businesses in the entire Imperium without some actions which those among you might see as unseemly. My father left me with a trade consortium that was falling to pieces, and he himself was a weak man who dragged our family name through the mud with his actions. We spent decades rebuilding and building up the family business from that, and my former daughter was willing to drag our name back into the mud with her actions on Dagonet. Surely you knew about her ‘aberration’?”

“She was a devout follower of the Lectio Divinitatus, yes I know. And why should that matter? Does it matter that I am a Catheric? Should one’s beliefs determine who they are and how they should be treated?”

“Her beliefs violate the Imperial Creed, yours do not. Do you know what happens to Emperor-worshippers when the Imperium finds them? Hulks, re-education camps, servitorising and worse. What we did was for her own good.”

“No, what you did was cut your daughter off when she needed you most. I know the rumours, that there are plenty among the aristocracy who worship the God-Emperor and use their money to hide the fact. You were never there for her, and when she finally found something which filled the void in her soul you never noticed, you threw her out, discarded her. Summer was a beautiful woman, smart, educated and strong willed. She saved my life more times than I can count, if it wasn’t for her I’d be dead by now. You never saw her the way I did, for if you had you would never have thrown her aside.”

“You are fast outstaying your welcome Sieur Pius.” Gregor Lantsfalle growled. “I would ask that you go now.”

Julius defiantly continued. “I will not go ser until you’ve heard all I have to say. Your daughter died for me. She gave her life to save me, to save that whole world from a menace you cannot imagine. I loved her ser, I loved her and I lost her, and the least I can do is ensure her last wishes are kept. My father knows people, and I will get this message to whom it belongs even if it means I have to go on my knees before the God-Emperor Himself.”

They blanched at his choice of words, and for a moment Julius wondered if they would get the automaton to forcibly drag him out. But after a few whispered words between them, Alezibeth Lantsfalle said. “Fine. Deliver your message and go. Narthan is in his room, upstairs and fifth door on the right. Make it quick.”

Julius nodded and set off as quickly as he dared. He found a boy hunched over a data-slab in the room with a teaching Servitor standing beside him, and he turned it off at the sound of someone at the door.

Narthan Lantsfalle shared his sister’s blonde hair and round face, though he was at least two years younger than Julius. His eyes widened as he recognised who was standing before him.

“You’re Julius Pius aren’t you? Your father is the greatest mortal war hero!” he said excitedly. He was closer to his sister in temperament then he was to either of his parents. There was some hope for the future of the Lantsfalle’s after all.

“Yes I am. I have some bad news for you I’m afraid, do we have somewhere private?”

“Here’s about as private as I get around here I’m afraid. The ‘tor is off though, we won’t be overheard.”

Julius sat down beside Narthan. “You remember your sister, right?”

“Summer? How could I ever forget her? Mum and dad sent her away for some reason, they never told me why. Do you have news from her?” His eager expression felt like a dagger in Julius’s heart, but at least he wasn’t the only one who still cared for her. He hated the news he was about to break to him, but he had to.

“Narthan, do you mind if I call you that?” Narthan shook his head. He could see the expression on Julius’s face. Julius struggled to hold his voice steady as he said the terrible words, “Your sister is dead. She died in my arms on Seadelant at the height of the battle. She gave her life to save me, to save the whole planet.”

Narthan‘s reaction was to stare at Julius for a few seconds, before denying it. “She can’t be dead! She swore she would come back and see me one day! She swore!”

“No one is sorrier than I am Narthan, believe me. We served together for the entire war, and I got to know your sister well during that time. She was a good person, and the Imperium is poorer for her loss.”

Narthan started softly sobbing, trying and failing to hold his composure in front of Julius, and as he did so he looked just like Summer had when she had done the same all those weeks ago. Once again Julius went over and embraced the crying party, and Narthan gladly accepted Julius’s offer of a shoulder to cry on. Julius felt tears streaking down his own cheeks which surprised him, he thought he had cried out every tear he had ever had or would ever have over Summer already.

“How did she die?” Narthan forced through the sobs.

Julius wanted to tell him the truth, but he had sworn not too, and how could he tell this boy that a Daemon had killed his sister? Julius carefully chose his next words.

“She died standing firm against the foe during the last big push. She killed their leader and was felled by its last blow. If she hadn’t done that I would be dead now. If she hadn’t been there at all I probably wouldn’t be here now. Your sister was very special to me.”

“Here. Your sister wrote this before we went off on our last mission. It’s for you. And this.” He carefully pulled out the sealed letter and the medal box from his coat pocket and handed them to Narthan. He reverently took them, opened the medal box and stared at it.

“I won one as well, though I’d rather have your sister back then a billion medals. It’s scant comfort, but take it anyway.” A thought came to mind. “Do you know why your sister was sent away?”

Narthan shook his head. “They wouldn’t tell me. Said it was a monstrous crime against the very tenants of the Imperium, and if they hadn’t done so she would have dragged the family name through the mud.”

“I’ll tell you, because you should know. Your sister believed in something bigger then herself, and it gave her purpose and a sense of place. There’s no easy way to put this, but she found faith in the God-Emperor and became an adherent of the Lectio Divinitatus.”

“She would never do that! She knows it’s against the Imperial Creed!” he recoiled in horror. Julius patiently waited for him to stop. “Is it any different from what I believe? Does it immediately make her into a psychopath like Keiter? No. She was a better person because of her faith; it gave her purpose and motivated all she did. She was a strong, fiery woman who was sharp as a whip and sweet as an angel. Was your sister any different when you bade her goodbye, did you think she was suddenly someone else?”

“No. No she wasn’t.” Narthan admitted. He just sat there, digesting all this information. He then changed the subject.

“My parents want me to stay on Terra for the foreseeable future; they plan to enrol me at Imperator. You went there, what’s it like?”

Julius thought for a moment. “It’s a strange place, where the past and the future meet. The best of the best studying for their futures as the next generation to run the Imperium. There’s good people and bad people there, and I was fortunate enough to know more of the former. The teachers are interesting; many are former Astartes who now help to train up the next wave. Let me give you a few hints, the History teacher is an old bore, the Warp Studies teacher can be scary but is incredibly knowledgeable and loves to teach and the less said about the Biology teacher, the better.”

Narthan smiled. Julius continued.

“It’s a big step up, but you will cherish your time there, even if there won’t be quite so many ‘interesting’ people there as there were when I went there. Study hard, find love, do all that you can while you’re there and you’ll come out a better person for it. The Lantsfalle Trade consortium will one day be yours, and I hope you run it better than your parents.”

Narthan nodded. “My sister said the same thing before she left. Thank you Julius, for letting me know. I will make her proud of me.”
Julius felt a weight on his soul lift. After a final hug, he turned and left.

“Are you done?” Gregor Lantsfalle demanded as he came down the stairs.

“Yes ser, your son’s received his sister’s last words. I hope he takes them in. by your leave, I shall go now.” As he paused at the door; he shot back, “Good luck, I think you’re going to need it. I hear the new Chartist representative is less willing to turn a blind eye to the things people like you do.”

The journey home was uneventful, but Julius had done what he had come here to do, he had lain Summer to rest. 

The Nightmares still came.

===A Final Confession===
This was it. The moment Julius had dreaded ever since he had returned to Terra, the moment he knew he would have to face from the very moment his vows were sundered. The arrangements had been made by his father, and the final piece of the puzzle was falling into place. It was a Friday; she had the day off anyway for study and had flown out from Kourtney to see him. He had let her choose the meeting place, and she had chosen one of the gardens in Startseite Public Park, out of the way, a place where no-one would overhear them talking.

As he made his way down to the park, he regretted the half-bottle of amasec he had sculled just before leaving in a fit of nerves. He knew his father would be enraged, but not a drop of it had passed his lips while inside the hab, he’s drunk it outside. Still, his head was swimming and he could almost see the fumes on his breath.
The park was almost deserted, a few scattered people dotted here and there, but nothing like the usual bustling crowds which converged on it when the weather was good. Anything was preferable to thinking about what was about to happen, what he was about to tell her.
He turned a corner and there she was, resting on the same park bench in front of the war memorial where he had sat with Andrew over a year ago when they had gone on that double-date with Isis and Hana. She hadn’t changed a bit. She turned to see his hesitant approach, smiled brightly, and got up to greet him.

The moment he saw her, a flood of memories assailed his mind. Shining memories of all the good times they had together, swiftly followed by darker ones of the Petitioner’s City and how his weakness had nearly killed her. And then Summer, the woman who he had broken his vows with, the woman he had come to love, the woman who had died to save him. In the face of all this, he was surprised he didn’t just give out there and then.

“Hey,” was all he could force out. Even his voice sounded weak, worn out.

“Julius! It’s so good to see you!” She exclaimed as she hurried over, arms out. Julius knew she wanted to hug him, but he recoiled from that.

“Don’t touch me!” He said, too harshly as it turned out. How could he let her touch him, now that he had ruined himself?

Isis took a step back, her smile turning to an expression of concern.

“Is everything alright?”

‘No Isis, I cheated on you and fucked someone else who ended up dying in my arms at the hands of a fucking Daemon.’ That thought immediately sprang to mind, but he just gave a hollow nod.

She took him over to the bench and he just sat there in dead silence for a few seconds, staring at the words carved into the monument.

‘In remembrance of all who in the service of the Emperor and in defence of Humanity gave their lives for the dream of the future. We will remember them.’ Julius had read those words countless times, but he had never truly understood them until now. Summer had died so that Seadelant and its inhabitants would live on, so that he would live on. Lost in his thoughts he almost forgot Isis was sitting beside him, but when he heard her shift her weight on the seat he was snapped back to reality.

“How’s Kourtney?” He finally asked, trying to be conversational and break the void. He let Isis speak about her early experiences for several minutes, blankly taking in her talk of lectures, tutorials and readings. He wished he could show more interest in what she was saying, that he could appreciate her excitement at the opportunities she was taking, but all it did was feel like it was reinforcing the different directions they appeared to be taking. She was moving forward, but now he was stuck in the past and unable to move on from his war experience.

He noticed she had stopped talking, and he scrambled for something else to mention.
“Look, I’m very sorry about Furia. I honestly thought that she was getting better, and to hear that she cut and run must be hard for you. You invested a lot of time helping her after she began taking those pills.”

Isis nodded, regret spilling over her face. “I honestly thought she had turned over a new leaf, she had left her violent side behind forever. But no, she couldn’t change her spots after all.”
Even now in the depths of his funk hole, his ‘sight’ still picked up something. The set of her head, the position of her feet. Isis was hiding something, something to do with Furia’s disappearance. Once Julius would have tried probing deeper, but now all he could do was file that nugget away for later, if there would be a later.

Isis then turned to him. “And what about you? You haven’t said more than a few words. You were in a war Julius. Has your father talked to you about what happens when you come home from that?”

“My father has said a thing or two yes, but I’m fine. I survived it didn’t I? Plenty of others didn’t. Plenty of people died…” Julius stopped as he saw Isis staring at him.

“Is that alcohol on your breath?” her disapproving tone and the visible disgust on her face reinforced Julius’s shame at how far he’d fallen.

“Yes. What does it matter?”

“The Julius I know would never drink.”

“The Julius you knew died on Seadelant.” He said bluntly.

The air between them was laden with Julius' building shame. Isis didn't feel the need to speak up. “The Julius I knew was a man of honour, someone who wasn't afraid of commitment, in either sense of the term. More than that, he kept his promises.” She narrowed her eyes as his lips twisted in bitter regret. “Are you carrying out a promise by talking to me about this?”

Summer. Her words as she died, ‘Tell Isis about me, she deserves to know’, echoed through his mind. “Yes.” He finally admitted. “I swore to someone that I would tell you everything, though I don’t want to. Hell is real Isis, I went there.”

There was no avoiding or denying it now. He started at the beginning, the same place he had started two nights ago when he had told his father. But this wasn’t his father. This was Isis Lupercal, the first daughter of the first son, the prime one of the royal daughters, the apple of her father’s eye. His father understood what he had gone through, he had been there himself. Isis could never understand the same way his father did.

He stumbled over several facts, the memories harsh and grating. The first time he saw a dead man, the first time he’d killed an Ork, hiding from the Grots in the sewers beneath Port Huron, each and every one agonising, torturous. It was pure hell, second by second, minute by minute as he relived his experiences before her, the blood, the screams, the death. Isis stayed largely silent, with only some small questions for specific details.
He left nothing out, every little thing he told her no matter how hard. He wondered how long it would take for her to find his greatest failure, how long before she connected the dots regarding Summer Lantsfalle.

Finally he reached his greatest shame, and though he stumbled time and time again he forced himself to tell all, to tell how Julius Pius had ended up sleeping with Summer Lantsfalle. He couldn’t look at Isis as he said these things; but he knew he had betrayed her, spat on the oaths he had sworn, and she had every right to hate him.
He half expected her to react, but nothing. She let him continue without comment, talk about the Daemon and their last ditch effort to get warning of the Daemon to Ahriman. The Liberation Fleet, the Ork assault, the Daemonic Incursion and killing the Brass Scorpion, all tumbled from his lips. He felt like he was bleeding, he was hurting all over and the only thing keeping him from shattering like glass was the knowledge that it all had to come out, every last bit of it.

[[Image:Isis_Julius.jpg|thumb|right|The Truth comes out.]]

The final part, the worst part, the part which he knew best, because it had never left him, it haunted him day and night. He had sworn never to tell a living soul about what Summer had done, and he had even lied about it to his father, but not to her. Never to her.
That hell-space, the Daemon's infernal power, his helplessness as it tried to kill him, Summer standing there, Aquilia in hand as her faith met the Daemon head on. The white light which tore the Daemon apart, the last ball of pink fire, the agony of watching her fall. His desperate words and her soft-spoken ones, her last words as soft as silk, her fire going out.
Julius could barely continue after that, he had no idea how he had ever got that far, but finally he spoke of Calth and the journey home, of his nightmares and how he had turned to the drink to try and keep them at bay. His story concluded with his coming home, and completing his mission to ensure Summer’s last words got to her brother.
He was done, and he fell apart as thoroughly as a house of cards. He couldn’t see her anymore, he couldn’t see anything though the veil covering his eyes. But he had one more thing he had to say.

“Icy.” He began, using the nickname Furia used for her. “I’m broken, and I don’t know if I can be fixed. I can’t sleep, every night it’s replayed in my mind. The howl of the Daemon, the sound of Ahriman fighting it, the sight of her standing before it with only her faith as a weapon, the sight of her falling, falling. I can still feel her body as it dies in my arms; still hear her last words to me. She haunts me Isis, she’s like a ghost. I will never be free of her.”
The void reached for him, threatened to drag him back into its dark embrace. He wanted nothing more than to go back there and never come out.

“I told you this once before, and I’m telling you again. Forget about me, find someone who will always be true to you and who isn’t a fucking headcase. There should be someone at Kourtney for you, someone who doesn’t hold to silly superstitions like mine, and who isn’t a shell-shocked loon fit for the asylum. And even if you took pity on me and we stayed together, what kind of future could I give you? I’ve seen so much death; I know how suddenly it can happen. As a soldier I’d be guaranteeing you nothing but pain and misery. Andrew wants to be a warrant officer, so Hana won’t have to worry about him getting his face shot off in a firefight on some nameless world. That’s exactly what I’d be condemning you to if we stay together. I know you must hate me for what I’ve done to you, but I hate myself more than you ever could. I will never be free of this; I will be hounded to my grave by what I have done. Now leave me. Just go, just bloody go!” his voice fell apart with his last words.

He bowed his head, closed his eyes and hoped that when he opened them again she would be gone, never to return. He felt drained and scared after all that; he had no idea what to do next. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his head, and the howl of the dark void which still hungered for him.

When he did open his eyes, she was gone. There was not a trace of her; it was like she had never existed. He slowly exhaled, half sob and half sigh of relief. She wouldn’t be bound by him anymore. She was free. Now he would have to free himself from the shackles of the past. He sat there and just watched the world go by for a time, thinking about how sudden and yet inevitable the end had been. Someone had once told him that High School Relationships were not meant to last beyond High School, as they were a first step, a way to prepare one for real relationships afterwards. He hadn’t believed it then, but he did now. Suddenly it made sense. What had happened between him and Isis was not a real relationship, it was learning for one. She had learned that lesson, and now so had he.

He slowly walked home, dragging out the journey as much as possible. By the time he returned home, night was falling.
His father was at the stove preparing dinner when he entered the hab. Ollanius turned to his son and softly asked, “How did it go?”

“As well as can be expected.” Julius replied.

“And Isis? How did she take it?”

“Not very well. We’re finished.” Those two words brought home the reality of what had happened. It was over between them. She would return to college and move on with her life, and he would have to do the same.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Oll said, moving to stand beside Julius.

“It was never going to last anyway father. I could never give her what she wanted. She doesn’t need someone of honor and faith, she needs someone of logic and reason. And she’ll find that someone, either at college or elsewhere.”

“And what about you?” Oll asked. “What will you do?”

“I’ll survive and move on. It’s all I can do.” Julius hung his head, and felt his father’s arms encircling him. He had no more tears to shed, but he still sobbed. He sobbed for Isis, for Summer, for all that had happened to him. But he was right, he had to move on, he had to let go and look to the future, no matter how bleak.

The Nightmares still came.

Julius stood on the landing platform, trying to adjust his cadet’s uniform to stop chafing. Around him others were also preparing to head off to the Imperial War Academy on Ganymede. They were the best and brightest, the future of the Imperial Army.

“Don’t forget to write son. I expect one letter every week.”

“I will father. Don’t worry about that.”

Oll smiled at him. “My son, how big you’ve grown. I remember the day Lord Guilliman came here with his offer. I could never have imagined you today, a man going to become an officer.”

After a few awkward seconds Oll added, “What about the other matter?”

“There’s a councillor at the Imperial War Academy, I’m to see him twice a week. I will get over this father, I will.” He tried to put some bravado into his voice. The nightmares still plagued him, but his councillor had assured him that in time they would fade. All wounds fade with time.

“Everyone embark!” a tinny voice blared out.

“Time to go.” Julius said, hefting up his bags.

“Good luck son!” Oll called as Julius trooped to the transporter.
Julius stowed away his bags and took his seat, a window seat as it turned out, facing the landing platform. His father was a tiny figure waving up.

Another cadet trotted up and sat beside him.

“Hello!” He said chirpily. “I’m George. What’s your name?”

“Julius.” He replied wearily.

“Julius? As in Pius? The son of the greatest war hero ever?”

Oh hell, Julius wanted to moan, instead he forced a smile and said, “Yes, he is my father."

"Wow!" George exclaimed. "Reading stories about him was what inspired me to want to join the army! Do you have any stories of his you can share?"

His optimism was infectious, and soon Julius was telling him all about Quetansk, when his father had won his second Star of Terra downing an Eldar Titan. As he did so, he realised that he wasn’t sad or depressed. For the first time in ages, he was happy. The future lay before him, and it was glorious to behold.

The End.