M43

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

M43

M43 is one writefaggot's nobledark idea of what the next millennium in the galaxy of Warhammer. This is blatant fan-fiction made only for the enjoyment of others. And also because GW sucks at advancing plot beyond several months of in-setting time just to justify the Tau models that are being released at the time. This is still being written and edited so nothing is concrete.

Introduction

At the turn of the 43rd millennium, the galaxy slammed its fists down and started to push itself back up off the metaphorical ground. The Imperium had been bathed in more war and blood in the past ten centuries than ever before and came out of it a bitter, war forged people.

The Death of The Emperor and the Golden Throne

0 250 028.M42

In the 1st century of the 42nd millennium, the Emperor finally left the materium. The golden throne didn't fail, the emperor simply quit, tired of festering and decaying upon a techno-psychic edifice. The Astronomicon did not die with him. It just blurred. The psychic might of the great world of Terra no longer had its focus. The fragmented bits of the Emperor were free to drift about the tides and streams of the Warp. Were they ever to coalesce, the Emperor's soul would be reborn, much like his initial birth.

Without the Emperor providing the psychic power to hold the wall against the failed human webway, it spilled open releasing a torrent of daemons. Within weeks the Imperial Palace became a war zone. The imperial forces local to Sol all converged upon Terra to keep it from falling to the forces of Chaos. Unfortunately for Chaos, it was at a distinct disadvantage having to fight against nearly every form of the Imperium's finest. Invigorated by the very life of the Imperium at stake should Terra fall the Custodes and Companions held the breach as Imperial Fists transformed the continent sized building into an inescapable killing field. The moon of Titan spewed forth the bane of daemons, the Grey Knights. In the first year of the Emperor's Death, the number of grimoires doubled. Mars had a revival as the Mechanicum began to churn out tech and weapons as fast as it could. Not only material but men were shipped to Terra as yet another facet of the Imperium set itself against The Breach as it was called later. The initial wave of Warp monstrosities was but a precursor of what was truly to come.

The death of the Emperor did not only affect the Sol system. The Astronomicon whilst still active was not as bright and focused. Many worlds far away were suddenly in the dark, only seeing occasional glimpses of the light in the Warp. Given the sudden changes the more passionate parts of the Ecclesiarchy went into overdrive. Refusing that their god could die, they stifled all rumors and hearsay. Stating that the Emperor had died was treated as the ultimate heresy. Entire worlds on the fringes of the Astronomicon were purged when the light went dark and the wailing cries of the populace asked where the God-Emperor went.

Centuries later the Golden Throne would truly fail and the human Webway it was sealing would open its floodgates. This was the true battle, the 2nd Invasion of Terra. It slogged on for over a century. The Battle of the Breach, as it was called, would end a year before the millennium changed over.

The Golden Rift War

0 345 028.M42

Given the huge expanses of time that the Imperium deals with on a daily basis, the amount of time between the Emperor’s death and the eruption of daemons from the unsealed human Webway was considerably abrupt. Klaxons blared and lights strobed as the Golden Throne desperately attempted to keep its charge alive. As it sparked and crackled, new sounds overpowered the throne. A deep hum. Seconds later, purple tinged rifts blazed into existence and divulged their passengers. The area beyond the Eternity Gate went from chaotic to Chaotic. Tech adepts and Mechanicus Magos who were monitoring and fixing the throne now found themselves locked in tentacle-to-mechadendrite combat. Custodes ran into battle, Bolters and Power Swords shooting and swinging. The Golden Rift War had begun.

The Imperial forces reeled at the onslaught of daemons. They were pushed back as the weeks ground on and soon the Eternity Gate was lost. Daemons surged outward and within months a full kilometer surrounding the Sanctum Imperialis was a boiling sea of charnel. The humans had not lost. The war had bogged down into a stalemate.

In late 029M42, a plan was formulated by the Adeptus Custodes, the Imperial Fists and the Adeptus Mechanicus. A massive push was made toward the Eternity Gate. As the beachhead reached the door, a pair of techmarines temporarily sealed it while an ever growing pocket of Astartes held off the counter-attack. Within three months, the surrounding area beyond the Sanctum had been cleansed. All that was left was to retake the Golden Throne.

It wasn’t an immediate rush after the Gate was retaken. The Imperium forces knew that retaking the Golden Throne meant nothing if the failed Webway couldn’t be sealed. It took over six months and several dozen Magos to figure out how to modify the Golden Throne just enough to focus the psychic might of Terra instead of the Emperor. As soon as they had a decent patch, the go ahead was given to fight into the Sanctum.

When those doors were first opened, the stench and mist that rolled out was terrible. Lesser mortals would have died immediately. However Astartes are not mortal and the Sororitas and other Adeptus forces were filled with the ultimate righteous fury. The most holy and sacred place in the entire Imperium had been filled with Chaos taint. And they were fighting to take it back. It was now the daemons turn to reel from such a brutal onslaught. By the end of 030M42, the Sanctum Imperialis had been purged of all Chaos filth. The Golden Rift War was over, but it was only a small taste of what was to come.

The Ophellian Purges

 This section has pants-on-head-retarded-zealous Sisters of Battle
and does not consistently jive with confirmed Sister mannerisms. 

3 749 147.M42

When the Astronomicon started to dim and blur and cries of the Emperor’s death rose, the Ecclesiarchy was quick to stem the heresy. While the relative autonomy of the Adeptus Sororitas allowed the Ecclesiarchy to function around the Imperium, it was the local area of the Segmentum Tempestus that took the brunt of Ophelian law. The first reports of the populace crying out about the death of the Emperor were met with harsh methods. Given no chance, such heresy was met with death of all. The exterminatus orders turned half a dozen worlds into useless death worlds. Some were spared by dint of being in the shadow of the Warp rifts, the Storms of Judgement, such as Calsu, Ghorstangrad, and Loriar. Others were spared the initial harshness.

The Sisters of Battle burned all who cried out that their God-Emperor was dead. The possibility that their patron deity could die was inconceivable. The world of Ulsis Prime was the site of a change in doctrine for the Ecclesiarchy. It was one of the last worlds to be officially sanctioned for purging.

The Prismarine's Objection

4 343 148.M42

Ulsis Prime, a garden world, one of the few. It was also the home of the chapter of the Prismarine. In the year 148M42, a small fleet of the Ecclesiarchy descended after they received requests for aid from the planet. When the Sororitas landed they discovered the reason for the requests. The planet had lost contact when the Astronomicon blurred and intense warp activity had kept it hidden. Having no sight of the light of Terra, the leadership assumed the worst, the Emperor had died. When the Sister heard of this, they flew into a promethium fueled rage.

The entire city of Azure Finatu was vaporized from orbit while the bulk of the Order ate through Saphra Eutic. The once pristine beach world was now wracked by billowing smoke and ash that polluted the oceans and beachside jungles. The purge came to a climax in the government towers of the capital city of Jade Lasting. The Canoness and a quartet of her most trusted Battle Sisters had marched to the seat of the Planetary Governor. Aides and other necessary members of the government were batted aside as the Sororitas plowed through the halls toward the office. One Sister stopped as she heard an aide mumble about the end coming and the Emperor forsaking them. The Sister un-holstered her Flamer and burned his outline into the plasteel wall. They continued on, barely a step missed. The double doors burst open.

The Planetary Governor, Srin Bartiq, looked up, alarmed at the intrusion. “You had better an excellent reason for interrupting-”, he growled as he looked up. “Governor Bartiq, you are being called to answer for the heresy of your world!” the Canoness shouted. “Heresy? Explain yourself!” Srin retorted, standing for effect. “Heresy most atrocious! Your world is claiming that the God-Emperor is dead! You’re lucky that we decided not to exterminatus this world and move on.” the Canoness shouted, “Your answer NOW! Lest you die where-” A rumbling stomping could be heard coming toward the office. A booming voice echoed into the room, “Hold your flaming tongue.”

A massive form shoved the Canoness’ retinue aside as he entered the room. “You, ~sister~, also have something to answer for.” This was the Chapter Master of the Prismarines, Alecksander Nobol. The massive Space Marine waded into the office. “While our esteemed Planetary Governor explains his ‘heresy’ you can explain to me why you are destroying one of the only garden worlds in the Imperium. And, let me be clear, it had better be better than ‘we are hungry’ because at least the Tyranids are honest,” the massive Astartes proclaimed. The two leaders were speechless. The Canoness stuttered, “Y-You-you...I-I don’t have to answer to anything! This man is a heretic! PREPARE TO BE PURGED!”. She leveled her Flamer at the Governor.

A blur of moving metal, the Chapter Master appeared in front of the Canoness. A ceramite gauntlet clamped over the baffle of the Flamer. Tiny puffs of fire leaked out between Alecksander’s hand until the pressure of his grip caused pressure to build and explode. Dropping the wrecked weapon and stepped up to the Astartes looking up into his face, “WHAT. IS. THE. MEANING. OF. THIS!?!” “Meaning? Since neither of you seem to understand what is being asked of you, let me explain. As for the supposed death of the Emperor, it is true.” The Canoness’ face degraded from angry to furious, “You. Heretic.” “The Emperor is dead. His physical body is gone. What YOU will have to come to terms with is that his soul is not,” responded Alecksander. The Canoness squinted her eyes at the Space Marine. Her quartet of Battle Sisters stepped in, sensing a climax to the discussion. “Unconvinced? Why don’t we ask the other ‘heretic’ in the room. Srin, what of the Emperor’s soul?” Alecksander casually said as he leaned back toward the Governor. “Uhhh...w-w-well...our astropaths h-have seen small l-lights…,” the Governor squeaked out. The Sororitas looked a bit confused. The Lord of the Prismarines looked back at the Canoness down in front of him, “Let me clarify. Whilst the astropaths have been getting hit-and-miss glances of the Astronomicon, they have consistently seen small lights as if the Astronomicon is incredibly far away. They have never seen these phenomena before. So given the Astronomicon dimming and occasional disappearances and the sudden appearance of these phenomena it would seem fair to consider that the fragments of the Emperor are these lights. So what do you think?” The Canoness was silent, deep in thought. She double-took toward both the Governor and Chapter Master, “NO!”

“The very idea of saying that the God-Emperor is dead is heresy in and of itself! Regardless of the truth of it, your slanderous speech is nothing but HERESY! AND YOU WILL DIE LIKE A HERETIC!” The Canoness screeched and stepped around the Marine headed toward the Governor. A large gauntlet grabbed her pack and swung her around, throwing her into the plasteel wall. Her look grew even more furious, furious that her righteous cause had been stopped, that the heretic would live. It changed in an instant, to one of stunned surprise. Alecksander’s right hand gripped her face. “RID MY PLANET OF YOUR IGNORANT FILTH, WITCH!” he roared as he picked her up and crushed her against the floor. “NOW! Did any of you fail to understand our little discussion?” the Chapter Master turned toward the remaining Sisters. They were visibly angry, no doubt agreeing with their canoness. But only with her reasoning that claiming the Emperor was dead was heresy. They did, however, understand that the Space Marine was probably right in his theory about the Emperor’s soul.

The Ecclesiarchy fleet soon left. The Prismarine chapter began aiding in the reconstruction of the damage. Alecksander hoped that the events of Ulsis Prime would reach ears that would listen.

Be Vigilant, Lest You Accidentally Purge the Astropath

In their zealous fury, it was not uncommon for a Sororita to execute the navigators in their ship the instant they lost sight of the Astronomicon and cried out for the Emperor’s death. This was heresy to them. As information became more widespread, navigator purges dropped to normal levels. In the first century after the Emperor’s death, quite a few Ecclesiarchy ships were stranded in the Warp due to panicked astropaths being killed. Suddenly a little heresy turned into a whole fucking lot of heresy.

Navigators were not the only ones to be the victims of uber-zealous purging. Astropaths. Many lost the shining beacon of the Astronomicon and interrupted their communications to announce the death of the Emperor. Many were shot mid-scream. This caused many planets that would have otherwise been fine, to drop off the psychic radar for various periods of time.

Green and Black

Fast Times in the Eye of Terror

9 ??? 214.M42

Vulkan, the lord of the Salamanders, one of the few opponents to the Codex Astartes and one of the fewer perpetuals in the galaxy, was one of the strangest inhabitants of the Eye of Terror. Not strange because of some crazy tentacles, or some eyes on his ass but because he didn’t have any of those. In fact, he wasn’t even pledged to one of the gods of the realm. He called the Eye home because that's where the enemy was. Vulkan was a man of the forge. So in his post-human wisdom, he decided that he would carve out a small forge on a moon in the Eye and perfect the tools of the Imperium. In the past 10 millennia, Vulkan has perfected 2 patterns of regular Power Armor, 4 dedicated versions of Terminator Armor. The powered suits were not his only projects. He tweaked some of the weapons he could pick up off the dead traitorous Astartes, but his true triumphs were new weapon platforms for Astartes. Of course the most amazing thing to come of his hermetic projects were his own suit of Power Armor. Completely ditching the Terminator pattern he had, and, after 47 centuries, he had created a new pattern of armor wearable by only Primarchs and possibly skilled Companions. The Nemean Power Armor was a marvel, looking and functioning like something out of a Dark Age STC.

While the constant work and fighting kept Chaos’ whisperings at bay, it didn’t keep his own whisperings at bay. After so long, he could no longer deny the fact that he was lonely. The daemons he encountered would much rather eat him than begin to talk. And the humans, oh the humans, they were almost worse. They talked alright, but it was gibbering, and mad ravings. They might be willing to sit down and have tea, but only if that tea was your blood and the cup was your skull. So he kept to himself.

The loneliness was not to last. In the early beginnings of the 42nd millennium, things changed. He began to see less daemons and traitorous scum. But in their absence, something else filled the void. A glimmer in his head. Unbeknownst to him, these were fragments of his Father. His loneliness no longer increased. As a couple more fragments found their way to the primarch, he eventually decided that he had done enough, had enough. It was time to leave the Eye of Terror.

Nemean Power Armor

Ceramite is tough no doubt about it. But what Vulkan produced in those years in the Eye was levels beyond mere ceramite. Vulkan named it Malcite (mal-kite) because of writer providence. Nemean armor also incorporated another machine spirit. Not one but two machine spirits, one for combat systems and the other for suit systems. One machine spirit no longer had to split its attention. The servos and pistons and artificial muscles of the suit were upgraded as well, by the master of forges. Despite not impeding an Astartes before, the Nemean suit enhanced the wearer’s strength and agility by a factor of hundreds. If the underlying mechanics were amazing, the gilding and adornments were beyond.

A myriad of universal ports allowed for a stunning amount of additions and weapon choices. One of Vulkan’s more expeditious additions to the Nemean armor pattern was not actually armor itself, but servo-skulls. Not content to have mere servitors, these were field packages that could be taken along without hindering the wearer or taking weapons and equipment that turned out to be inappropriate. Quite possibly the biggest advantage they gave was the possibility of utilizing weapons previously delegated to only Dreadnaughts and mobile platforms. One such package was called Recta Rubra. When activated, a large servo-skull, most likely a former Ogryn would attach at a several ports in the lower back. Mechadendrites would snake down to the lower legs to attach supporting struts and anchoring mechanisms. The bulk of the servo would reinforce the back and release a pair of twin-linked Lascannons that would straddled the shoulder pauldrons. Other strike packages included a portable void shield and personal gun servo-skulls that mounted a varied amount of weapons.

Nocturne Returne

3 048 215.M42

As his personal craft touched down on his unused landing pad, Vulkan sighed. It was one of the biggest sighs of relief that he had ever breathed. It was good to be home. And he came bearing gifts. He made a mental note to find out who some of the more ‘hyper’ techmarines were. He debated whether to tell the Master of the Forge about his pet project and decided to show him. What’s the good of making a ton of super cool toys if you can’t show them off. That could wait for later because he had someone waiting for him. As he stepped out he heard the greeting, “My Lord Vulkan, I would like to welcome you back to Prometheus. I am Tu’Shan, Regent of Prometheus, and current Master of the Salamanders Chapter.”

“Tu’Shan? A good strong name. And that armor. I haven’t laid eyes upon such beauty in millenia. I can assume that means that the forges and workshops have not been abandoned?” Vulkan responded, rather dryly. “Well, yes, my Lord. In fact, I believe the Forgefather, He’Stan has been itching to meet you. No doubt the rest of the chapter as well,” the Chapter Master answered. This was not the light-hearted and warm Vulkan he’d read and heard of. Vulkan sighed again, “Yes...meetings. It is my duty to meet the men of the Chapter. I must request we wait to visit Nocturne for a week or so. I understand that the next Time of Trial is fast approaching?” Tu’Shan’s mood turned a bit sour at the rather dark tone, “Yes...sir. I will inform Hesiod of your plans. It will do Nocturne good to go through the next Trial with you at our helm.” The Chapter Master’s vox crackled, alerting that all of the brothers that were presently on Prometheus had been gathered. “If I may interrupt, all the men are gathered awaiting you, Lord Vulkan. Shall we go?” Vulkan straightened, “I suppose we shall, lead the way.”

“Salamanders, Men, Brothers. My heart burns with renewed fire upon returning! Together we will set all that is evil and tainted afire and burn it out! We will ensure that the Imperium is rekindled and burns brighter than ever before! Our thoughts, our actions, OUR HEARTS will be as one flame. ONE THAT CANNOT BE PUT OUT!” Vulkan looked around and then finished, “INTO THE FIRES OF BATTLE!” The throng of men shouted back, “UNTO THE ANVIL OF WAR!” With that the mass devolved into shouting, cheering and clapping as Vulkan left his stand.

Vulkan retired to a private chamber and sat down, weary from that speech. A knock came at the door. He lightly approved their entrance and was unsurprised to see Tu’Shan entered. “My Lord Vulkan, I...have some questions to ask...not about what we will do, but...about you, if I may?” Vulkan sagged back into the massive seat, and rubbed his hand over his smooth head. Another sigh, “You want to ask about the speech don’t you?” “Well, yes. Not about the content, of course, it was a fantastic delivery. The men haven’t been this way in a long, long time. My question...er...comment more like it….that speech didn’t sound like...you seem to feel.”

Vulkan leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees and drooping his tough hands in between. “No, no it wasn’t. A primarch can’t show weakness. I haven’t had much contact with anyone for millennia. Daemons aren’t too talkative, and the traitors are always screaming about the same perverse ideals. There isn’t too much conversation to be had in the Eye of Terror. I can't...I don’t want to over do it. With company. I don’t want to snap. I mean, you can see it even now, that tiny speech wiped me out. I’m a Primarch,” a small laugh coming as Vulkan spilled his inner turmoil. “My Lord...I-I had no idea...Shall I order Hesiod to postpone until you are feeling up to it? We can tell them that you have personal things to attend to here on Prometheus. Or-or that the High Lords of Terra have called and you need to head out immediately. We can tell them-” Tu’Shan stammered as he tried to think of something. Battling orks and Chaos was one thing, but a post-human’s feelings were something he was never ready for. Vulkan cut him off, “No. One week is plenty of time to...acclimate to people. I AM a primarch after all.” Vulkan looked up in thought. “How much of a stick in the mud is your Forgefather, He’Stan?” “I...er...he, ummm, he isn’t as…’boisterous’ as he used to be.” Tu’Shan picked his words carefully. Vulkan’s eyes brightened and he let out a great huff of a laugh, “Hah, excellent! Then why don’t you head down to the forge and tell him I’m on my way.” Vulkan stood up and walked over to the door and left. He poked his head back in, “If he falls on the floor, dinner tonight is on you.” Tu’Shan stood their in shock. “What just happened?” he wondered. Then it hit him and he quickly headed towards He’Stan’s abode.

He’Stan crumpled. His knee pads slammed into the stone floor chipping out divots. “It-it-it’s….magnificent.” He could no longer take it and fell forward barely catching himself with his hands. Tu’Shan managed to stay on his feet, although he too was hard pressed to describe what he was seeing as anything but magnificent. “Called it Nemean Armor. Mostly for us Primarchs. Although I think some of the bigger Astartes could wear it!” Vulkan bellowed, a smile upon his face for the first time since returning. “My Lord, I could only hope to be worthy of wearing such a piece of art. I...am not worthy of the title of Forgefather," He’Stan practically groveled. “Don’t give me that crap. I worked on this baby for longer than you’ve been alive. Heck, probably longer than you and Tu’Shan combined. And I saw some of your work in the crowds. Those suits are masterpieces! So get up and we can talk about what you and I have been up to in our respective workshops.” Vulkan smiled down at him and then looked over at the Chapter Master, “I believe you owe me some dinner.” Tu’Shan started, “I, uh, I-I,” a gleam appeared in his eye, “I believe he didn’t fall on the floor. So no dinner.

Vulkan sagged in mock tantrum, “Oh for the love of my Dad...fine. Let me show you something else. Recta Rubra.” He called out and mentally activated the modified servo-skull. An oversized servo-skull with a jumble of mechanical gears, struts, hoses, and other parts buzzed in. It headed toward the back of Vulkan and clipped in with a clack. The room filled with humming, clicking of parts unfolding and setting, the whirring of pumps and servos spooling up. A thunderous crunch sounded as the stabilizers that had appeared on Vulkan’s lower leg plates clamped into the ground. A final hum sounded as the two twin-linked Lascannons rotated over his shoulders and clipped into place. Vulkan grinned like an idiot and turned toward the firing range that was right between the pair of Salamanders. A huge roar, like the decompression of something in the void erupted from the weapons as the room bathed itself in ruby red light. When the two could see again, they noticed Vulkan standing there proud as could be, grinning just as maniacally. Tu’Shan was speechless. Only the sounds of the forges background noises could be heard until a groan began. Tu’Shan looked over and was just in time to see He’Stan crashed to ground flat on his back. “I believe that’s dinner, Chapter Master.” Tu’Shan was still speechless.