Editing M43 (section)

===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.”