Editing M43 (section)

==The Grim Beauty of Lesser Hadryion==
===Assault on Lesser Hadyrion===
'''4 617 789.M42'''
: Alvon was running as fast as he could. Not away from the battle but toward it. By the Imperial luck of the draw, his company, the 13th Hadryion Corvettes had been sent back to their original tithe system. It was not for R&R. In the distance he could see sickly pink lightning strikes stretching throughout the overcast hive. Chanting sometimes echoed off the metal walls. He was barely holding it together; he couldn’t imagine what his men were thinking. A massive explosion sounded hundreds of meters above him, higher up in the hive. The smoking wreckage of a Predator arced downward as a Thunderhawk roared over him. No sooner had the Thunderhawk’s engines dopplered away, a tortured hum pierced his ears. He had to stop and squeeze his eyes shut just to not pass out. He finally managed a painful peek back at his men. Two of his men had their hands on their knees. Rangle was puking her guts out. Thomps had completely passed out, while the rest of his squad was writhing around with their hands on their ears. He turned back toward the objective as the horrible sound ended. An ornamental gate had crumbled like rock and added itself to the rubble of the war-torn hive. A Noise Marine stepped over the desiccated gate and looked at him.


: “Get Thomps on his feet! The rest of you slugs, get to cover and start firing. Do not stay in cover for long. Repeat, do not stay in cover for long!” Alvon shouted orders to his squad as he dashed ahead several meters for the shelter of a small hab-building. The Noise Marine sauntered forward, blaring some abysmal dirge from its pack. It sighted one of the Guardsmen and fired its Sonic Blaster. Dinden had barely made it to his feet when an intense vibration hit him. He shuddered as his the inside of his skull resonated with the horrendous frequency. His head exploded and he sagged to the ground. The waves of sound, now partially visible swept over to another one of Alvon’s men, who had just a second ago, been firing his lasgun at the traitor Astartes. The Guardsman quickly disintegrated along with the chunk of hab-building he’d been hiding behind. The Noise Marine stopped firing and leaned back in an incoherent screech of triumph. The sound made Alvon tingle. Between shots of his lasgun, he was taking glances at his men. The one still alive seemed okay. Then he noticed Rangle get up from behind her cover and slowly begin to walk toward the Noise Marine.

	
: He stared incredulously at the Guardswoman as she passed him. Her half-lidded eyes and near-smile snapped him out of his reverie, “RANGLE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” “It’s...just….so….pretty,” the woman slurred out, continuing to trudge toward the giant Astartes. Alvon racked his head, “Fuck fuck fuck….. Ulgran!” he shouted to a private. “Yes sir?!?” “PUT THAT BOLTER TO USE AND HIT THOSE VENTS ON THE PACK!” Alvon screamed his plan to the heavy weapons trooper. Several deep booms preceded the wet smacking of metal on harder metal. Several Bolter rounds exploded harmlessly on the deformed pauldrons of the Marine, but one managed to hit its mark and the speaker exploded. As the cackling died in a sputter and the normal sounds of battle returned, the Noise Marine finally snapped back to reality. It looked down at the now swaying Guardswoman. “RANGLE! GET THE FUCK BACK HERE! YOU WANNA DIE?” Alvon shouted now that the spell had been broken. She did not respond to his calls. She did respond to the Noise Marine when let out a gut wrenching bellow and pointed toward Alvon and his squad. She turned around making jerky movements more like a puppet than human and started firing her lasgun. She advanced a step and then her head exploded, showering the Noise Marine behind her in blood and bone.

	
: Alvon turned around to see his company’s Commissar standing in the middle of the street, Bolter smoking. Another squad was massing behind him as well. “MEN, IT IS OUR DUTY TO THE EMPEROR TO PURGE THIS HERETIC! FORWARD!” the Commissar rallied the fresh squad and the remainder of Alvon’s squad. A fury of lasgun bolts and explosive shells pelted the Noise Marine. Under such an assault, the Astartes dropped down to its knees, its armor and exposed skin smoking and smouldering. A second later it let loose a scream that sent a shiver of pleasure down the Guardsmen spines. No sooner it dropped completely to the ground and began to melt. The squads breathed an audible sigh of relief and moved to an intact hab-shelter to discuss their further actions.

	
: Inside, the current progress of the battle for Hive Siberni was laid out. The lower levels had been mostly cleared, with the exception of a particularly dug in force of cultist in a Mechanicum vault. The middle tiers were being assault by the Guard, which is where they were. And the upper levels and spires were barely being suppressed by air forces. After that was established, both Alvon and the Commissar agreed that they should advance southward and regroup with G Company to assault the temple on this level, not that Alvon actually had a say or anything. The two squads slogged out the door and their world went white.

	
: The hive was splashed in the light of several tremendous pink lightning bolts. A multitude of screams pierced the battle as they harmonized into a singular scream of agony. The air grew thin as a portion around the hive sucked in towards the top. It exploded outwards in another second. A huge spire that had once held the family that owned the forges of the hive crumbled and fell. In the center of thousands of dead bodies splayed out in lasting agony and pleasure, a singular figure stood, Fulgrim, the daemon prince of Slaanesh.

	
: As Fulgrim appeared in the materium, the group containing Alvon was overcome with an immense pressure, like they had just taken on ridiculously heavy packs. Their legs gave out under the psychic weight. One by one they blacked out, the only signs of life were their shallow breaths. Fulgrim had entered the fight.

===Fulgrim's Penance===
'''9 ??? ???.M??'''
: Deep on the Planet of Pleasure, Fulgrim sat upon a beautiful throne of pristine pearl, inlaid with obsidian runes. His sharpened fingernails clattered upon the armrest. He wanted something, but then again, he always wanted something. He thought about calling in a daemonette. Eh, they were a dime a dozen, perhaps he should have a pair of his new Phoenix Guard duel, to see how long they go and how much blood they could spill. He lingered on the idea of a duel. Just as he was about to call for them, and a daemonette, because why not, a huge ball of light pulsed into existence in the center of his throne room. The daemons currently in the room and the traitorous Astartes rushed towards the new presence, desperate for some new experience. They made it no closer than 10 paces as some flew back and splattered against the walls. Others just collapsed upon themselves and popped out of un-reality. The Astartes all disintegrated as their bodies were ripped apart layer by layer, cell by cell. Fulgrim was soon alone. He looked at the ball of light, which was now red with golden-white swirls in it. “What have you done? Reveal yourself,” Fulgrim accused at the hovering essence. It pulsed bright once, then twice, and then exploded in lances of super-bright energy. Fulgrim winced but kept his eyes open. They burned. It felt good. Then a staccato burst of light rushed him and his world went dark.

	
: Fulgrim awoke to an eerily silent palace. It was...nice. “Wait,” he muttered to himself. Something was different, definitely different. He shouldn’t be finding pleasure in a silent room, that was something...that he did before he turned to Chaos. He looked down. He still had four arms. He twitch a non-standard muscle and a scaly tail draped itself over his shoulder. “Still in the body that Slaanesh gave me,” Fulgrim wondered aloud, “But I can’t understand this feeling.”
He stood there for quite sometime deep in thought until he was finally disturbed by a daemonette skipping into the room, “Hey master, we got a messenger from the Planet of Sorcerers. He said something about Magnus wanting to see you. I ate him, I hope you don’t mind.” Fulgrim wove a hand through his hair, “Magnus eh, I guess I could go see that red hermit. A change of pace sounds rather nice.” 

	
: The two Primarchs stood face to face for the first time in centuries. “You’ve changed Magnus, what is it?” Fulgrim asked the red figure. “I could say the same to you, Fulgrim,” Magnus responded, “perhaps you no longer want to burst your eardrums with awful music and play around in bloody slip and slides?” “Brown noise has nothing to do with ear….wait, how would you know?” the reptilian prince asked in sudden realization, “You did it didn’t you?” Magnus spun and started pacing, “I might have had a hand in the removal of certain daemonic influences yes...but I didn’t do it alone. I have someone I want you to meet.” As he said this a ball of light floated down from the ceiling of Magnus’ study. It stopped its descent next to Magnus, hovering a meter off the floor. “Hello, son.” “Son….father?” Fulgrim managed to stutter out. He snapped to Magnus and glared at him, “MAGNUS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY HAVE YOU NOT DESTROYED THIS THING?”  “Father has died more than you or I together. And I no longer am aligned against Father,” Magnus responded matter of factly, “Besides haven’t you felt it? Surely on your way over here you felt the occasional pinprick of light and purity? Of course you have, and do you know what those were?” Magnus leaned in toward his brother. “Father?”, Fulgrim faintly asked. “Well bits of me actually. Now that you are no longer completely steeped in Chaos, I can actually touch you with my presence again.” the Emperor-ball said. “I still don’t care. You are still the Emperor, false as ever,” Fulgrim spat out. The room was still, no one moved. Fulgrim was just about to lay into his Father and Magnus, when the voice of his Father began, “You...are right, my son. You went to Chaos for perfection, even if at times it wasn’t your choice. You had it forced upon you at times. And...and I’m sorry,” the Emperor-ball sputtered out, “I...I...was the one who forced it upon you. When I made you and your brothers I too...I….I went… to Chaos….for perfection. I tainted you. And that will never be gone.” The Emperor-ball was now dripping tiny globules of light and energy. 
	
	
: Fulgrims shoulders sagged. The revelation socked him in the gut, which normally would have made him shout in ecstasy but now it hurt, not a physical hurt but a wet, cold hurt. His Father, the greatest human ever to exist had lain his greatest shame bare. And he could swear that the glob of light was...crying. “Father, I...had no idea,” Fulgrim apologized. “I thought I had truly lost you,” the Emperor-ball said, “When Magnus and I appeared in your palace and released that psychic wave, we really didn’t have any idea if it would work. And then...then I felt your soul touch one of my fragments.” the Emperor-ball blubbered out, “At first I was sure that it was a trick. And then, I felt another and another! I was so overjoyed that I accidentally lit Magnus’ hair on fire!” Magnus stared down at his Father’s form, “Remind me to thank you for that later.” Fulgrim laughed and commented back, “Your hair was always wiry, you never listened to me when I gave you tips.” “Stow it pretty boy,” Magnus retorted, “Oh! I said I had somebody I wanted you to meet.” Fulrim furrowed his brow, “Did Tzeentch really screw with you that much? I already met Father.” Magnus smiled a truly compassionate smile, “No, someone else.” As he said that, the semi-visible form of Ferrus Manus stepped out from behind his red brother.

	
: “F-F-Ferrus...Is that really you?” Fulgrim stuttered, nearly driven to silence at the appearance of his brother. “Yes, Fulgrim. I am here. Our brother here happened to snag me in one of his psychic nets. Never would have thought the bookworm to be a fisherman,” Ferrus explained. Magnus huffed and stepped off to the side. It was not his place to be in this meeting. “I-I...I don’t want you to see me like this,” Fulgrim lowered his head in shame and slumped down. Ferrus walked over and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “I don’t see anything. What I see is the same brother who showed such deep remorse for cutting me down that it cleared the taint instantaneously. That’s the brother I see. And that’s the brother I choose to forgive.” Ferrus told the forlorn primarch. “You...forgive me? B-but…” Fulgrim sobbed out. “You...h-have...no...n-no reason..to.” “You are my brother and that is all the reason I need,” Ferrus said as he embraced his broken brother in a hug. Fulgrim sagged into his arms, “hup, you’re a bit heavier than I remember.”


: It took quite a while for the emotions to die down. Ferrus backed off as Magnus and the dollop of Emperor came closer, forming a semicircle. “As for your current appearance and form,” the Emperor-ball began, “we might have a solution for that...?” Magnus spoke up, “It would seem that a Slaaneshi cult on the world of Lesser Hadryion is preparing a ritual to summon you to them.” The Emperor-ball finished, “and with some tweaking, we could have you pop out in a more human form.” Fulgrim looked at them with streaks down his cheeks and a smile upon his face, “I would love that. But what of Ferrus?” Ferrus crossed his arms, “Sadly, I cannot come back into the Materium yet. We have discussed it but have not come up with anything yet, although I told them to drop it when Father told me that he could feel your presence once more.” Fulgrim raised his shoulders and stood much more confidently, “Thank you Ferrus. For everything. Now let’s do this. The sooner I get back to the Materium, the sooner we can get you back as well.”

===Victory on Lesser Hadryion===
'''4 617 789.M42'''
: The spots in his eyes cleared quickly as Fulgrim got his first look at the Materium, Hive Siberni, and Lesser Hadryion. He could see the ash choked sky and flashes of ordnance explosions. As he turned around, he could see a crown of hive spires and columns of oily smoke. Behind them he could see Thunderhawks skittering around the hive, dotted lines of ack-ack tracers lancing out. Fulgrim’s ears finally cleared out, that clogged cottony feeling subsiding.
	
: The true scope of the battle for the hive became apparent as the sounds overlayed what Fulgrim was seeing. Now he could hear and feel the dull thumps of anti-aircraft guns firing. The occasional downward whine of a Predator firing its lascannon. The ever present staccato bursts of Bolters and the tinkling of thousands lasguns. The screams and shouts echoed off the maze of walls some louder than others. In fact the screams were the loudest things he heard. As Fulgrim continued to get his bearings, he finally connected the super loud screams to hundreds of screaming cultists still standing amongst a plaza of dead bodies.
	
	
: The court was a bloodbath. For every one standing cultist, there were a hundred bodies lying in odd, contorted positions. There were pools of blood in between bodies that formed improvised biological levees. The drains gurgled as they struggled to keep up with the red tide. All the while, Fulgrim’s face relayed the growing horror of what he was witnessing. Inside, he knew that this is how he was to summoned to the Materium, but nothing prepared him for this wanton loss of life. “This...this is what I was?” Fulgrim choked out as he swivelled his head, taking in more and more of the visceral scene. He looked down, his neck no longer had the strength to hold his head up. “Lord Fulgrim! With you leading our forces we will surely take the hive from the Corpse-Emperor’s forces,” he heard from behind him. He turned and came face to face with a Noise Marine.

	
: “Master, we are steadily losing ground in the middle levels of the hive but we still hold the upper levels. We also have a foothold in the bottom tier. This battle is...a blessing of new experiences. I figure you wish to indulge as well?” Fulgrim stared at the mutated Astartes, a look of disgust coming over his face. Horror, sadness, anger, disgust all swept over him as he took in what used to be one of his beloved Legionnaires. A guttural, primal scream sounded, “GAAAAAHHHHH,” as Fulgrim snapped. A fist of the Primarch shot out pulping the head of the Noise Marine in a wet crunch. Fulgrim noticed that his fist was covered in a gauntlet. He looked down and noticed that he no longer bore the gift of Slaanesh; he was back in a comfortable suit of royal purple Power Armor. A final gift of Ferrus no doubt. A pair of tears rolled down his cheeks, he didn’t deserve any of this: the new life, the gift of old armor, the forgiveness. He snapped back to reality as the lifeless Astartes fell to the ground, blood, bone, and bits of ceramite adding to the gore already there. “Is this my punishment?!? I accept it,” Fulgrim shouted to the sky. He looked back around, his face now stone. “I know what I must do...I know my penance...my punishment...all of you...ALL OF YOU WILL BE PURGED!” Fulgrim shouted at the now gawking crowd of cultists and traitorous Chaos forces. He reached down and grabbed an errant Chainsword and hefted it. “COME AND DIE WITH AT LEAST SOME HONOR!” Fulgrim shouted as he issued his challenge. Moments later the crowd surged in, screeching and chittering in the excitement of taking on a turned Primarch.

	
: Alvon and what remained of the two squads crept into what appeared to be a foyer. What was once a rather decadent room was now covered in heretical symbols and smears of blood and gore. There were bullet pockmarks and crushed rubble everywhere. Even as, it was still nicer than anything the lower levels had, even before the war. Up ahead was the main courtyard of the hive, the main objective of his regiment and location of the heinous ritual they were told was taking place. They could hear screams and shouts. Their imaginations ran wild with the terrifying possibilities. The commissar entered, took stock of the location, and bellowed the order to move forward. They began to advance. Several steps later, a daemonette ran out of a side room toward the courtyard, eager to join the convolution out there. It skidded to a halt as it sensed the squads near it. “Oh ho my, what have we here? Some brave guardsmen I think. Hmhm!”, it chortled as it started walking toward them.

	
: The daemonette slinked forward. It's laughter was like the gentle tinkling of glass in the wind and grating fingernails on a chalk board. The two squads had frozen unsure of whether to run away or toward the daemon. The commissar was not so entranced and set about attacking the daemon, shouting litanies and ‘heresy’. The commissar and daemonette closed the distance between each other. Despite his fervor and fury, the daemonettes unnatural strength prevailed. The commissar soon drooped lifelessly in the daemonettes claws. It laughed as it pulled dripping strings of his intestines out and rubbed them on its body. The grindhouse act was cut short as the upper torso of a cultist crashed through a chunk of the doorway and slammed into the daemonette, knocking it and its plaything over. The far off look on everyone's faces cleared and they all started firing at the daemon. One commissar may have not been enough, but the bulk of two whole Guardsman squad firing simultaneously slagged the feminine daemon in seconds. Past another daemonic hurdle courtesy of Slaanesh, the squads moved to their objective. When they entered the courtyard, they once again were brought into reverie.

	
: In the rough center of the courtyard was the most massive human they had ever seen. They had seen Angels of Death before, but this figure was so much more. His armor gleamed while every swipe of his sword was followed by beautiful white hair. This was no mere Astartes. This was something more. The Space Marine moved with such grace and poise that it seemed out of place amongst the carnage. Eventually the sounds of Bolter fire across the courtyard alerted them to the presence of more Guardsman. In a matter of minutes six more squads of Guardsmen appeared at various entrances around the plaza. The Chaos forces were not prepared to face a Primarch in the middle and the chokehold press of the Imperial Guard on the outside. They withered and joined the floor of the dead. Fulgrim finally looked around, no longer concentrating on fight since it had ended. He noticed another crowd had formed, this one composed of Guardsman. Looking around, Fulgrim was worried that the guard would launch into an attack. He braced himself, not desiring to kill the soldiers of the Imperium. As he lowered his head he once again noticed the familiar gauntlets of his armor. He looked back up and smiled, “I...I am Fulgrim, Primarch of the.... of the fallen Emperor's Children. It’s n-nice to meet you all!”

	
: Alvon’s jaw dropped. He never had expected to ever meet an Angel of Death and he’d seen one in action on his last campaign. But to meet a Primarch? He’d never dream of the idea on the off chance that such lofty dreams were heresy or something. He heard the purple-clad Primarch speak. It took him a long time to realize that the Lord was talking to him. “Guardsman, what is your name?” “M-m-me sir? It’s A-A-Alvon, uhhhhh, Sarge-Sargeant Alvon...Sir.” The Primarch laughed, it was a beautiful soft laugh, “Just as I remember, always nervous.” Fulgrim motioned the stunned Guardsman over. “Get over here boy. I’m not going to bite, not anymore at least. I’d like to meet a Guardsman, I haven’t shaken hands with the real men of the Imperium for a long, long time.” Alvon overcame his initial shock, he started picking his way through the rough terrain toward the Primarch. When he got there, the Primarch reached out a large gauntlet. The two shook. “Nice to meet you Alvon.”